Indiana Elric?
by Shadow Mage Evelyn
Summary: When Edward is captured by the Nazis, it's up to his brother Alphonse to rescue him. A semi rewrite of the movie Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade using the Fullmetal Alchemist characters. Post movie. May contain spoilers.
1. Chapter 1

**Indiana…Elric?**

A Fullmetal Alchemist Fanfiction

By: Shadow Mage Evelyn

A profound yawn erupted from the very depths of Agent Denny Brosh's being.

Accompanying this rejuvenation of his brain was a long, luxurious stretch that extended from his fingertips to his toes, granting a reprieve to stiff muscles. Once he was finished, he wiped the tears out of his eyes and checked his wrist watch. Not trusting the device, he looked across the large room to the huge mahogany grandfather clock suspended on the front wall of Berlin's National Library. Its brass hands were positioned across its ivory face in a way that confirmed the time on his wristwatch: 2 a.m. As he continued to stare at the clock face, his eyes drifted to the brass pendulum that swung back and forth, back and forth in a rhythmic, hypnotic motion.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

Agent Brosh sighed heavily and tore his gaze away.

"I know what time it is, Agent. I promise I'll only be a few more minutes."

Brosh grinned boyishly in silent response to the voice of his latest charge. He knew—as he was sure the chief knew—that they would be here at least another hour. The chief had a tough time tearing himself away from the books. The library was like his temple, the books his Bibles, and himself the worshipper. Yup, it would be a very _long_ time. Brosh crossed his arms and settled back for the wait. He could hear the furious scribbling of his charge's pen, escorted by the young man's quiet musings.

"A highly unstable substance…ha! _I_ could have told you _that_…it can cause radiation sickness…that's not good. I'll have to warn the guys…okay, atomic structure."

Here Brosh perceived the hurried flipping of pages.

"Where'd they put the atomic structure? Atomic structure? …no… come on, guys, I just need the atomic structure…atomic structure…no…atomic…_aha_! Here it is!"

The voice, Brosh noted idly as his eyelids slowly drooped, while talking fluently in English, held a strange accent that was only detectable on a few words. It was one that Brosh had never heard before, but it could be from some remote part of Germany…not that Brosh knew off the top of his head whether there _were_ any remote parts of Germany or not, but that was the only conceivable explanation that would come to his slightly sleep deprived mind. Eventually, the mutterings dropped to an inaudible level and Brosh's mind started to wander again.

Another half an hour passed before he was startled from his half awake state by the definitive snap of a book being shut.

"Hey, Brosh? Can you come help me put these away?"

"Sure, chief," Brosh replied, eagerly getting out of his chair and coming around the shelves. His charge smiled at him as he came into view.

"Thanks. Here, take this pile. I'm going to get up on the ladder and you can just hand them to me."

"Sure thing."

As Brosh handed the books up, he took a moment to take a glance up at the young man whom he was in charge of guarding. Long, golden blonde hair was held back on his head by a ponytail holder, minus the locks that hung down in front to frame his slender face. Golden eyes, usually sharp and alert, held a faraway look to them, and Brosh could almost see the numbers he was still crunching in his head reflected in those eyes. Dark brown pants and a matching dark brown vest covered a slim frame, and a loose white shirt with long sleeves was worn under the vest. On his hands were white gloves, a strange quirk of this young man's. He almost always wore those gloves, no matter what. In fact, Brosh was pretty sure he'd never seen him without them on, or with his sleeves rolled up, even on warm days. As he stood pondering that, the youth suddenly noticed Brosh's gaze. He looked down in a slightly confused way.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

"No…its nothing. Sorry."

He still looked confused, but he didn't press the issue, choosing to climb down the ladder instead, going over to the table and gathering up his pile of papers. These he placed in a briefcase that he promptly closed and locked, pocketing the key. Finally, he put on his long, dark reddish-brown trenchcoat.

"Okay, let's go," he told Brosh, and the agent nodded.

They made their way over to the left part of the library where there were dozens and dozens of steel lockers. They walked past about twenty before the young man stopped. He turned the combination lock easily, the number long memorized, and the lock popped open with a _click_. He opened the locker, slid the briefcase inside, and then shut the door again, putting the lock back in place and snapping it shut. He spun the little combination dial so that the tumblers would be sufficiently scrambled, and nodded, satisfied. No reason to take chances. He started towards the outer doors. Behind him, Brosh ran through his mind the identity of this young man, trying to remind himself that no matter how he might appear, this young man was one of the most intellectually adept minds in the world of science.

Though he didn't know it, the name Edward Elric was well known all over the United States of America and throughout most of Europe. He was a new, up-and-coming chemist and mathematician, and was known simply for his brilliance. After all, it wasn't every day that an eighteen year old kid could formulate complicated chemical structures in his head in mere seconds! Currently, he'd been sent as an ambassador of the US to Germany to do research on uranium, a recent discovery in the field of chemistry. However, Germany was currently in such a state of turmoil that the US government had feared allowing such a brilliant mind to go unprotected and alone, so they had assigned him his own bodyguard from the American Federal Bureau of Investigation, which is where Brosh came into the picture. Brosh smirked to himself. Edward had proved time and again, though, that he was fully capable of taking care of himself, but it never hurt to be careful.

"Goodnight, Miss Cailburg," Edward called, waving to the pretty brunette behind the librarian's desk.

"Have a safe trip home, Mr. Elric!" she chirped back cheerily, smiling even at this ungodly time of night. Edward smiled at her and continued out, never noticing the dreamy stare, the slight blush, and the appreciative sigh that followed in his wake. But Brosh saw it, and only grinned. That's how it always worked. Edward was completely and utterly oblivious to the effect he had on every member of the female race he came across. Brosh could only shake his head, recalling that no matter how beautiful the woman, Edward never seemed to take more than a passing interest. That got Brosh to wondering as to which side of the fence Edward's tastes were aligned. Sure, he never took much interest in women…but Brosh didn't recall him taking any interest in a guy either. Looking at Edward's back, Brosh realized there was actually quite a lot he didn't know about his charge, despite having spent almost every waking moment with the young man for two months. Shrugging, Brosh figured that Edward had his reasons for secrecy.

"Aw, great," Edward said grumpily as they walked outside. Rain was coming down by the gallons, and probably had been for sometime. Little waterfalls were flowing down the steps, and tiny rivers swirled down around the curbs of the streets. What few people were around at this unorthodox hour ran hurriedly from place to place, huddled close under umbrellas in a futile effort to stay as dry as possible in this weather.

"Have you ever wondered why I left Germany, Brosh?" Edward spoke up as he watched one such couple race through the mini Rhine rivers that rushed past the sidewalks, flooding the drain grates.

"Sometimes, chief," Brosh replied idly, his eyes looking around at the people, searching for any indication that any wished Edward harm.

"_This_ is why."

Brosh laughed at that one.

"I swear to you, Germany is the weather toilet bowl of the world!" Edward insisted.

"What…you mean they have shitty weather?"

It was Edward's turn to laugh.

"Yeah…that's it in a nutshell."

Brosh smirked.

"Well, we aren't going to get home any faster if we don't move, right?"

Edward nodded.

"Let's go."

They started down the steps, side by side, their heads ducked to ward off the rain in their faces. Edward grimaced as he felt a few of the cold drops slip under his collar and run down his back. Stupid winter rainstorms…

He pulled up short as a man approached him, coming up right in front of him on the stairs. Brosh put his hand on his gun, immediately on alert.

"Mr. Elric?" the man asked, his voice carrying a very thick German accent. Edward's hands balled into fists.

"Yes?" he answered cautiously, on guard.

"If you would be so kind, my employer wishes to speak with you."

Something about the man, either the way he spoke, the tone in his voice, or his stance—like a hunting cat ready to pounce—grated on Edward's every nerve. He shook his head.

"No. Sorry, but I'm very busy right now, and I can't afford the time. Please convey my apologies to your employer."

As Edward started down the steps again, the man moved into his path again.

"Mr. Elric, I must insist."

"I am very sorry, but I really must be on my way."

Everything about this situation screamed as wrong to the young man. He made to move past the man, but the other grabbed him by the elbow. Reacting instinctively, Edward grabbed his arm, and in one smooth motion, flipped the man over his body onto the ground. As the man landed on his back, he let out a startled grunt, all the breath in his body leaving in an audible _whoosh_! Edward released his hold, and looked down at the man.

"I'm sorry, but I _really_ cannot go with you. _Goodnight_, sir."

He turned and nodded to Brosh, who had his gun out and down at his side. The two started away again.

Dusting himself off, the man got to one knee and drew his gun.

"I'm sorry, also, Mr. Elric," he said, causing both men to turn around. Edward's mind registered the gun a second too late before the man fired, the bullet soaring straight for him.

"Get down!!" Brosh yelled, and he threw his body in the way, knocking Edward to the ground in the same motion. Edward cried out instinctively as he crashed to the pavement, feeling the impact bruise his body as he slid down a few extra steps. He looked up, his gaze turning fast to horror and his blood running cold as he watched the red stain grow on the front of Brosh's shirt.

"Chief," Brosh choked out, falling to one knee. "Get…out of…h-here…"

He turned to face the German, his gun coming up as he shakily took aim.

"No!" Edward protested, too late. Two more gunshots ripped the air, and two more bullets tore hotly through Brosh's chest, blood spatters joining the rain on the stairs. With what seemed like a deliberate slowness that took an eternity to pass, Edward watched the man collapse onto the concrete stairs and lay very, very still.

"Brosh!" Edward cried, rising to rush over to the man's side. Before he got there, an audible _click_ sounded next to his left ear, and he stiffened in surprise. He felt the emanating cold of steel against his temple, and he could smell the pungent odor of gunpowder wafting through the damp air. Slowly, eyes wide in horror, Edward turned to look straight into the business end of a Browning hand pistol.

"Mr. Elric," the man said, his tone eerily calm. He sounded as if nothing had happened out of the ordinary, as if he did this every day of his life.

"I must insist."

Edward swallowed hard; his golden eyes focused completely on the barrel held mere centimeters from his forehead.

"Let's go," the voice commanded, and the pistol gestured up and left. Edward rose obediently to his feet and started down the stairs, the barrel pressed tightly against his backbone.

"What's going on??" a familiar female voice called from the front doors of the library. Edward's eyes widened in terror, and his heart skipped a beat in panic. He wheeled about and looked up at the young librarian huddled just beyond the wooden barriers.

"Miss Cailburg, go back inside," he told her, trying to keep the tremor from his voice.

"But—!" she went to protest, but Edward cut her off.

"Please go back inside!" he begged. The urgency in his voice caught her attention, and she knew something was terribly wrong. That's when she caught sight of Brosh face down on the stairs, his lifeblood darkening the usually stark white stone. Without another word, she ducked quickly into the library, running as fast as she could on trembling legs to the back room and more importantly, to the phone.

The German, meanwhile, grabbed Edward roughly by the arm and forcibly led him down the steps, the Browning digging into Edward's ribs, a painful reminder to behave. He followed meekly, biding his time. Quickly, they walked down the street and turned a corner, coming onto a side street where the man took him into the nearest alleyway. Edward knew he was very deeply in trouble as he caught sight of the black limousine parked there, the engine idling with a low, reverberating rumble, and the windshield wipers swishing back and forth in a motion reminiscent to a poised cat's tail. As the two approached, two more men climbed out of the limo, one from the driver seat, one from the passenger side. Edward knew it was now or never. With a swift, smooth motion, he grabbed his escort's arms and flipped him to the ground, knocking the Browning from his grasp. The man gasped, totally unprepared for the move, and Edward let go, breaking into a dead run, going back the way he had come. Before he could get very far down the street, though, one of the other men grabbed him from behind. Undeterred, Edward elbowed the man sharply in his stomach, and his opponent released him. Without losing momentum, Edward spun around and kicked the man in the chest, knocking him to the ground. As the other man approached, Edward jumped to meet him, swinging with his left fist, which was promptly caught by the wrist. Edward simply turned his back to the man and flipped him over his shoulder, but before he could recover his center of balance, he got tackled from behind by the man he had met on the stairs, who roughly pulled Edward's arms behind his back. Edward struggled, crying out, but the man's grip only readjusted and tightened, and he brought a leather gloved hand up to cover the young chemist's mouth. Edward bit down on the hand reflexively, but with no result, and he continued to kick and squirm, trying to break the hold.

By this time, the other two men had recovered and risen to their feet, following as the first man dragged Edward over to the limousine. Once within range of the vehicle, the second man ran over to the passenger side of the limo, reaching in and pulling out an unmarked bottle full of clear liquid. He also produced a rag from somewhere, and Edward knew exactly what that meant. His efforts for freedom only renewed tenfold, but without the desired result. He could only watch in growing fear as the man popped the cork out of the bottle, and tipped a small portion of its contents into the cloth, partially soaking the rag. Once that was done, he replaced the cork and nodded. The other two men held Edward firmly between them, despite his continued struggles. The hand over his mouth vanished, only to be replaced by the soaked rag an instant later, shutting the young scientist up too quickly so that he could not attempt to call out for help again. Edward continued to fight, though, trying to break the holds on his arms, all the while trying not to inhale, but the sickly sweet smell of the chloroform on the rag still somehow worked its way into his nose, quickly dulling his senses. He gave a few more muffled protests before his body gave in, growing limp in his captors' arms as the strength in his legs failed him. Edward's world slowly tightened into a hazy tunnel that grew darker with every passing second, and the men, sensing that they had won, opened the back door of the limo and threw their captive onto the seat inside. One climbed into the back beside him while the others slid into their seats up front, and Edward dimly heard the engine of the vehicle rumble to life. He fought to stay awake and alert as the limousine lurched into motion, but his senses were slowly weakening and he knew it wouldn't be much longer before he lost complete consciousness.

"Ah, Mr. Edward Elric," said an unfamiliar voice in a thick French accent. Edward's gaze drifted lethargically to the right to locate the speaker, who turned out to be an unimposing man with neatly trimmed dark hair sitting across the way, his legs crossed and smoke floating lazily from a cigarette held between his slender fingers. A triumphant smirk graced his beardless face.

"So kind of you to join us," he finished, placing the cigarette in his mouth and pulling in a draw, letting it out a second later with a content sigh. Edward's attention was suddenly caught by the bright red strip of cloth on the man's left arm, a white circle on its side with a black swastika emblazoned proudly. Before Edward could question him, though, his fuzzy world reeled with frightening suddenness, and everything faded quickly to black.

The man watched as his captive's body slumped limply onto the seat, his golden blonde hair slipping over his left arm while the other arm slipped over the seat to dangle down and almost touch the floor of the car. The man smiled, knowing full well that Edward was out cold and would be for several hours. His left hand clenched on the seat beside him in silent victory, his goal now within reach.


	2. Chapter 2

And so does the crack fic truly begin...

Hope you liked the last chapter, and I hope you will like this chapter as well! Please be warned: **THERE ARE MAJOR SPOILERS TO THE END OF THE SERIES AND THE MOVIE IN THIS CHAPTER. **Actually, there were quite a few in the last chapter, too, weren't there? Well, not exactly...anyways...read on, and please feel free to leave all comments, concerns, and observations on life at the end of this chapter, okay? I look forward to them!!

Read on and enjoy!!

**Chapter 2**

"Yes, Mrs. Anderson, I understand, but…Mrs. Anderson…I don't think that's appropriate for me to be talking about…um, I couldn't answer that, because honestly I don't know and I don't really want to know. He's in Germany right now. Okay, Mrs. Anderson, I'll be sure to tell him that you want to see him first thing when he gets back. Alright? Yes, yes. Have a good day, Mrs. Anderson. Goodbye."

With a sigh caught somewhere between relief and frustration, Alphonse Elric placed the telephone back into its cradle. He wasn't entirely sure why he continued to humor the poor old woman who was hopelessly infatuated with his older brother despite Edward's obvious disinterest. He suspected that it had something do with the pity he felt for her failing sanity. Moving away from the phone, he picked his broom back up so that he could once again resume his cleaning. Even after two months of being in New York City alone, little had changed in terms of Alphonse's behavioral patterns. As he walked past Edward's door on the way to his own room, a look inside the mildly controlled chaos of his brother's life made him shake his head. Yes, little, indeed, had changed. It was with immense relief that he embraced the cleanliness and organization of his own private sanctum of the tiny apartment he and Ed shared. He couldn't imagine living his life the way Edward did. It would probably drive him crazy.

The young man who maneuvered his way about the room, carefully sweeping the floor, was quite different from the boy he had been but two years ago. The sandy blonde hair—considerably longer than it had been two months ago, for now he could tie it back in a ponytail again—and sparkling brown eyes did not reveal much to his past, for two years ago, those features had not been there, nor had the easy smile that was quick light up his cherubic face been there. Two years ago, Alphonse's face had been emotionless steel, his eyes two red pinpoints of light in a helm's eyelets.

With barely an effort, Alphonse squeezed between his bed and the wall, sweeping up the dust that had gathered there. Two years ago, he never would have fit back there, for his metal girth had easily been twice the size he was now.

With deft hands, he dumped the now dust filled pan into the nearby garbage bag. He winced slightly as he banged his elbow against the wall, a dull thump sounding with the impact. Two years ago, he would have been wincing inwardly for a different reason, for there would have sounded a loud, metallic clang instead, echoing hollowly for a few minutes throughout the room.

Yes, the young man who stepped lightly across the room was quite different from the young boy who two years ago would have clunked heavily across the wooden floor.

For, but two years ago, Alphonse Elric had been nothing but a soul bound alchemically to an empty suit of armor.

Mrs. Anderson and the others in the surrounding apartments would be quite shocked if they knew the whole truth about their young neighbors who had moved here less than a year ago, supposedly from Germany. The truth was that Edward and Alphonse were not from Germany, nor anywhere on any known maps in this world. The two were from a totally different world where alchemy, an art consisting of science and magic that could alter the boundaries of the natural world, had progressed even further than the steam engine. Edward and Alphonse had been famous alchemists in their day, Edward more so than Alphonse, for Edward could perform alchemy as easily as he could breathe. A clap of his hands was all that he needed, and with a crackle of alchemic energy, whatever he was designing would form beneath his fingertips.

Yet such skill had come with a heavy price. At the age of ten, Alphonse had agreed to go along with his year-older brother in order to use alchemy to bring their dead mother back to life. The process was called human transmutation, and it was the biggest taboo in the world of alchemy, called by many "The Devil's Art" and those that attempted it were known as "the devil's workers". Young and naïve, Edward and Alphonse thought nothing of these rumors, fording ahead and attempting to do that which was heavily forbidden, to a dark end.

The word "transmutation" came straight from the Latin "trans" meaning "across" and "mutare" meaning "to change". In other words, transmuting something meant changing it across its normal boundaries, and that was exactly what alchemy did.

The first law of alchemy was known simply as the Law of Equivalent Exchange, and it said that to obtain something, something of equal value must be lost. Many a young and unskilled alchemist had thought nothing of this principle, to their own end. Edward and Alphonse, talented at even such a young age, had likewise not taken the darker half of this principle into account. Thusly, when the alchemical ritual went awry in its deadly rebound, Alphonse had lost his entire body and Edward had lost his left leg from midthigh and down. In a desperate act, Edward had sacrificed his entire right arm from the shoulder down to transmute his brother's soul into the empty suit of armor that had been Alphonse's body for the four long, painful years it had taken for them to locate the one thing that could defy the Law of Equivalent Exchange: the Philosopher's Stone. With that blood-red stone, an alchemist could transmute with the minimum price for the maximum result.

After four years, they had found the Stone, and it had turned out to be right under their noses inside of Alphonse's armor. After a long, arduous battle, Alphonse had been successfully restored to his body, but it had been his ten year old self, without the memories of that four-year journey, and Edward had been trapped on the other side of the Gate of Truth, the price for Alphonse's restoration. After two years of searching, Alphonse had found a way to open the Gate in order to bring Edward back, but it had nearly destroyed their world. Thus, Edward returned to the other side of the Gate, but Alphonse had stowed away on the ship to return with him and remain at his side, his memories restored. The two had traveled from Germany to America to locate an object called the uranium bomb, an artifact that the two had come across in their search for the Philosopher's Stone that had deadly potential. They'd found it in the hands of a group of scientists, and despite his young age, Edward had managed to rise to the head of the research team, carefully taking the bomb and hiding it in a location that was a secret to everyone but himself. He didn't even tell Alphonse where it was located, and he usually told Alphonse everything.

For the last two months, Edward had been staying over in Germany to conduct some research on the uranium element, occasionally sending letters to Alphonse as to his progress and as to how he was getting along, what things he'd seen, who he'd met, and other various things he figured would be of interest to his younger brother. Alphonse knew Edward was trying to make his absence less obvious to his little brother, and the younger Elric could only grin as Edward continued to try and watch out for him, even across an entire ocean. Alphonse himself was getting along alright, though he was a little lonely without his brother, even though his brother's colleagues were nice and often stopped by to see him and to make sure he had everything he needed. Of course, he never wrote those things into his letters to his brother, but he was sure that they both knew what he meant. He spent most of his time updating Edward on the conditions of the weather and the apartment, filling the rest of the letter with mundane things that he knew would be of little interest to his brother. He knew, too, that despite this, Edward would feel obligated to read every word of it, as it was written by his younger brother's hand. Thusly, Alphonse did his best to write about things that wouldn't completely bore his brother, even though Edward claimed to never be bored by the content of Alphonse's letters.

Humming a simple tune to himself, Alphonse put the broom back in the closet and was washing his hands in the sink when the phone rang again. Sighing, he dried his hands quickly and went over, catching the device at the last possible ring.

"Hello?"

Fully prepared for another, rather inappropriate discussion with Mrs. Anderson about his brother's most private parts, Alphonse was immensely relieved to hear the voice of Hank Jones, the second youngest member of his brother's research team.

"Alphonse? Oh, thank God! Are you alright?"

Alphonse could hear the tension in twenty-nine-year-old's voice.

"Of course I am. Are _you_ alright?"

"Yes, yes…a little stressed is all. Are you at home? Oh, that's stupid, of course you are…"

Knowing the man could ramble endlessly for hours, Alphonse interrupted.

"Hank, is everything alright? What's going on?"

"Well, Alphonse…it's probably better if I tell you in person. Are you going to be home for the rest of the day?"

"If I have to be. Why?"

"I'll be over in fifteen minutes, okay?"

"Sure, but Hank, tell me why."

"It's about your brother. I'll tell you when I get there."

"My brother??" Alphonse was suddenly worried. "What about my brother??"

"I'll be there in fifteen. Don't go anywhere."

Alphonse hung up the phone, numb with worry. What in the world was going on?

True to his word, Hank arrived at the Elric's door in fifteen minutes.

"Hank, what's going on??" Alphonse demanded as he ushered the man inside, taking his coat and hat and hanging it up.

"Alphonse, you should probably sit down for this," Hank told him, running a hand through his rusty colored hair and gesturing to the couch. Alphonse took a seat, his brown eyes never leaving Hank's face, reading every emotion line, every slight facial crease. Once settled in the chair—Edward's chair, Alphonse noted absently—across the coffee table, Hank leaned forward, elbows resting on his thighs and his hands clasped before him. There was a serious and slightly haunted look to his hazel eyes.

"Alphonse, we just received word from our embassy in Berlin that your brother has disappeared. We think he's been kidnapped."

"Kidnapped?? Edward??" Alphonse interjected in disbelief. "H-how?? Why??"

"The last person who saw him was a young lady named Patricia Cailburg. She saw him leaving the Berlin National Library with an unknown man two nights ago, and that's all anyone knows about this. The reason for why he might possibly have been kidnapped is still unclear."

"So, you don't think it's for ransom of any kind?"

"We haven't received any notices, and they surely would have sent something to us by now if this were indeed a matter of ransom."

"But, Brother is just a chemist…!"

He trailed off as Hank shook his head.

"Not just a chemist. Your brother's name is well known throughout most of Europe and the US, you know. It really isn't all that surprising that someone kidnapped him."

Alphonse felt his blood run cold in his veins.

"You don't think he's…_dead_…do you?" he choked out, terribly afraid for his oft hotheaded brother. Hank shook his head.

"I honestly can't—!"

At that moment, the discussion paused as a knock sounded on the door, causing them both to jump slightly. Alphonse went to the door and opened it.

"Here you are, Mr. Elric," the mailman, Ethan Cooper greeted, holding out the various envelopes.

"Thank you," Alphonse said, taking them and smiling at the man. With a tip of his hat, Ethan continued on his way and Alphonse shut the door, peeking through the envelopes.

"I can promise you that no matter what, Alphonse, we've got the FBI on this right now. They'll do everything they can to find out what happened to your brother."

Clearly, Hank's words had fallen on deaf ears, for Alphonse had paused as he shifted through the mail.

"Alphonse?"

The young man dropped the envelopes to the coffee table save one, which he held up closely to his face.

"This is Brother's handwriting," he mentioned, almost to himself.

"So then, he is alive!!" Hank answered, sounding excited.

Alphonse didn't reply, but he turned the envelope around and tore off the side, tilting it and dumping out all of the envelope's contents. A tiny silver key and a folded index card fell out onto his open palm.

"What the…?" Hank breathed. Alphonse opened the index card. There were three numbers written on the card, with the words _Number 20 as you approach from the left_ written below them. While he sat staring at them, Hank grabbed the envelope and searched it.

"There's nothing else in there!" he said, dubious. "What are we supposed to do with a key and three numbers??"

He was surprised to see Alphonse rise to his feet and grip the key tightly, nodding to himself about something. The young man made his way to the telephone.

"Alphonse? What are you doing?"

"I have someone to call," was the only forthcoming response that came amidst the _whirr_ of the rotary dial.

Hank stared at the youth in bewilderment, until the young man spoke into the receiver.

"Hello, Dad? It's Alphonse. I need your help. Edward's been kidnapped, and I have to get him back."


	3. Chapter 3

If you've seen the movie, you'll notice the obviously glaring "mistake" I've made in this story. Well, I didn't. I just chose to ignore parts of the original story… (sweatdrops) It wouldn't work otherwise!!! Trust me!!

Anyways…enjoy, and please leave a review!! Thanks!!

**Chapter 3**

"Yup, those are numbers for a combination lock," Hohenheim Elric said, studying the index card thoroughly. "Similar to those used to open a locker in the Berlin National Library."

He set down the index card and then studied the silver key.

"Don't know what this is for, though," he said, watching through idle golden eyes as the sunlight reflected off its shiny surfaces. "Or why Ed sent these to you."

Alphonse nodded.

"That makes two of us."

Hohenheim studied his youngest son for a moment, noting the determined glint in his brown eyes and the stern set of his jaw.

"You sure you really want to do this?" he said. Alphonse nodded again.

"I have to. Brother sent me these for a reason, and I have to know why."

Hohenheim scratched his bearded chin and thoughtfully studied the slanting scrawl on the index card beside his left hand.

_25 64 16_

_Number 20 as you approach from the left._

"If these are the numbers to a combination lock in the Berlin National Library, then Ed must have something very, very important stored in one of the lockers. And it looks like he wrote this in a hurry, which could explain the lack of explanation on his part. There may have not been time, because maybe he didn't want whoever's got him to get to whatever's in that locker."

Alphonse drew in a sharp breath as his father's words hit home.

"_Brother's research_!" he explained in answer to Hohenheim's confused look. "Whoever has him _must_ be after his research!"

He stood up and took the proffered key from his father.

"So you're really going to do this?" Hohenheim asked again.

Alphonse nodded.

"I have to. Even though I'm a believer in letting the authorities take care of things, it's obvious that I can't this time."

He studied the silver key intently.

"I have to go to Berlin. I have to find Brother's research before his captors do, and then I have to find him."

Hohenheim rose to his feet with a groan, muttering something about old bones.

"Well, I guess I can't convince you otherwise, and as they always say, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em," he said in his typical drawl that sounded like it bordered somewhere between boredom and sleep.

Alphonse looked at his father in surprise.

"You mean…you're going with me??"

Hohenheim sighed and scratched the back of his head.

"I certainly can't let you go alone into enemy territory," he said. "Ed would never forgive me for that. So, yeah…I guess I'm going with you."

Alphonse smiled.

"Thanks, Dad."

"Don't mention it."

It took them a day to get from New York to London, England by airplane. From there, the two hopped another plane and flew from London straight into Berlin, a journey of only three hours. Once in Berlin, they rented a car and drove straight to the Berlin National Library to try and pick up Edward's trail.

Once they arrived at the building, they were surprised at the number of heavily armed military personnel surrounding the area. Alphonse walked up the stairs in numb shock, until a man approached.

"Excuse me, gentlemen, but I can't allow you go any further."

Alphonse looked up in surprise at the sound of the familiar deep voice, his brown eyes meeting familiar coal black ones that clearly didn't recognize him. He had an eerie feeling of vertigo as he looked directly into the eyes of this world's Roy Mustang. The man was one of the few in the crowd not wearing a military uniform. Instead, he was dressed in a black suit and a long, tan raincoat.

"There's an investigation pending, and we can't allow anyone on the premises. I'm sorry, but you'll have to leave," the man continued.

"An investigation, huh?" Hohenheim replied, his eyes scanning the gathered police and FBI agents. "You wouldn't happen to be investigating the disappearance of a young chemist named Edward Elric, would you?"

The man who looked exactly like Roy narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the older man.

"And just who are you? How do you know about this matter?"

It was clear from the man's tone that Hohenheim had just risen to the top of the suspect list.

Hohenheim merely smiled and put up a placating hand.

"Don't worry. I didn't have anything to do with the kidnapping. I have a list of people you can call who can back me up on that."

"Then who are you?" the man demanded.

"I'm Hohenheim Elric, Edward's father, and this is Alphonse, Edward's younger brother."

The man's face softened immediately.

"Oh. Forgive me. I'm a little stressed right now, since I almost lost one of my men."

The man pulled a wallet from his inner coat pocket, displaying an ID badge to the two Elrics.

"The name's Roy Mustang. I'm an agent for the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and the man in charge of this investigation."

He put the badge away and gestured for the two to follow him, leading them up the stairs and into the library.

"So far, the only lead we've gotten is from Patricia Cailburg, the librarian who was working the late shift on the night your son went missing. She says that she heard three gunshots and went outside to see what was going on. It was at that point that your son was walking down the steps with a man she didn't recognize. When she called out to them, your son turned around and told her to go back inside the library. She claims that it was clear from his expression that he didn't know the man and didn't want to go with him. She saw Denny Brosh, the man who was your son's bodyguard, lying motionless and bleeding on the stairs, and that's when she ran to the back room and called the police to tell them what was going on. They called the embassy, and the embassy called us. So far, that's all we know."

"What about Brosh? Does he know anything?" Hohenheim asked, looking around the scene with interest, that inquisitive glint to his eyes.

"Unfortunately, Agent Brosh has not yet regained consciousness. Two of the bullets just missed vital organs, one hit his left kidney, and the blood loss he suffered has rendered him in critical condition. The doctors aren't sure when he might wake up, so this is our only lead."

The agent had led them to a room where a pretty young lady with brown hair and dark brown eyes sat with other agents, her face tear streaked. Roy stepped into the room said something to the men, and then nodded to Hohenheim and Alphonse, who entered the room as the agents filtered out.

"Miss Cailburg, this is Hohenheim Elric, Edward's father, and Alphonse Elric, Edward's younger brother. Gentlemen, this is Patricia Cailburg."

Hohenheim and Alphonse took seats across from the young woman, who sniffled and tried to blink back tears.

"I am so sorry about Edward!" she told them, her voice thick with tears she had yet to shed. A heavy German accent also accompanied her words. "I should have done more!! I shouldn't have gone back inside!! I—!!"

Hohenheim shushed her gently and put one of his hands over hers.

"It's alright, Miss Cailburg. You did more than enough. If you had not gone back inside, you might have ended up in the same situation as Edward. Please don't worry about that, alright?"

Hohenheim's soothing voice had an instantaneous effect on the young woman, calming her. Agent Mustang took that moment to excuse himself and left the room. The woman, meanwhile, squared her shoulders and looked up at the two men opposite her. Her eyes focused on Alphonse for a long moment, and a soft, sweet smile graced her lips.

"You are Alphonse, yes?" she asked him, and he nodded. She nodded to herself and bit her lip, looking like she was trying to break into tears again. She smiled up at him a moment later.

"Edward often spoke of you. He was almost always here when I was working, and often read his mail here. He told me a lot about you."

Alphonse smiled encouragingly at her.

"Agent Mustang told you what happened, yes?" she asked them, and both Elrics nodded. She nodded as well, and wiped her eyes with her handkerchief, then looked around and leaned in close to them.

"The man who took him was a Nazi," she whispered, as if afraid someone would overhear. She spat out the word "Nazi" as if it left a terrible taste in her mouth. Alphonse and Hohenheim sat back slightly in shock, their eyes widening.

"How do you know?" Hohenheim asked, leaning forward in his chair, his tone suddenly businesslike. There was a calculating expression in his eyes.

"I recognized his uniform, even under the long coat. It was tan, like the special forces."

"So you think the Nazis took him?"

The woman nodded confidently. Hohenheim looked at Alphonse for a moment, and then turned back to the young woman.

"Miss Cailburg, we need your help. There should be a locker nearby of my son's."

"Other side of the librarian's desk. Number 20."

Hohenheim nodded appreciatively and patted her hand.

"Thank you."

She nodded, and the two rose from their chairs, moving into the open area of the library.

Hohenheim found Agent Mustang shortly after by a table, looking over a map with a few of his men, giving orders to start a search party.

"Agent Mustang, if you'll come with me?" the older Elric asked, leading the way to the lockers. Mustang followed, perplexed. Hohenheim found Locker 20, and then turned the dial on the combination lock left 25 lines, right 64, and back to the left 16 lines. He pulled down gently on the lock and it popped open. Alphonse looked at his father and grinned, and the man opened the door, revealing the slightly worn, brown leather briefcase inside.

"What is that??" Mustang inquired, surprised.

"What the people who you're looking for are after," Hohenheim replied, pulling the case out. He held it for a moment, judging its weight and nodding, impressed.

"Which is…?"

"My son's research."

Hohenheim led the way to a nearby table and set the case down. Alphonse moved forward then and pulled out the silver key, sliding it into the lock and turning it to the left. A small _click _sounded, and the clasps on the briefcase popped open. Eagerly, Alphonse opened the lid and revealed the scattered papers inside, immediately recognizing the handwriting on the pages as that of his brother's. He picked up the first sheet, reading the words.

_Uranium Research, Day 50_

_Relative Abundance of Uranium Isotopes _

_**Isotope**_

_**U-238**_

_**U-235**_

_**U-234**_

_Natural Abundance () _

_99.27_

_0.72_

_0.0055_

_Half-life (years)_

_4.47 billion _

_700 million _

_246,000_

_Uranium isotopes can be separated to increase concentration of one isotope versus another-- "enrichment"_

_U-235 is better for making nuclear weapons and for using in nuclear reactors._ _Also called actinouranium. Is the parent substance of the so-called actinium series, a 15-member radioactive decay series ending in stable lead-207; protactinium-231 and actinium-227 are the relatively stable members of this series._

_Uranium-238 is the parent substance of the 18-member radioactive decay series known as the uranium series. Some relatively long-lived members of this series include uranium-234, thorium-230, and radium-226; the final stable member of the series is lead-206. _

_Because the rate of decay in these series is constant, it is possible to estimate the age of uranium samples._

"This is definitely Brother's work," he told them, holding the paper out to his father. Hohenheim took the sheet and nodded.

"Yup, definitely Ed's handwriting," he agreed.

"This is good. This could help us with motive," Mustang told them. He walked away to find some of his team members. Meanwhile, Alphonse picked up a small, leather bound notebook and opened it, flipping through the pages.

"Dad!" he hissed excitedly a moment later.

"What?"

"Look at this!"

When Hohenheim took a look at the writings, he recognized Edward's handwriting, but couldn't make sense of the words themselves.

_November 2_

_Today I met with Colonel Bastard-face. Okay, not really him, but looks like him. Got assigned a bodyguard from the FBI to go with me into Germany, since country's in "such a state of turmoil". Whoop-dee-frickin-doo. Fools don't know that I can take care of myself!_

_November 3_

_Took a slight detour into Iskenderun before heading to Berlin. Left unimportant belongings in a museum bathroom. Whoops. Will have to go back and check on those sometime in the future. Hopefully they will remain intact. _

_Returned by plane to Berlin. Happy to be away from the sand. Forgot about the damn rain. Suddenly, Iskenderun doesn't seem so bad…_

_November 17_

_Checked on unimportant belongings. Items intact, with no signs of tampering. Good sign. _

"Looks like a random diary," Hohenheim said, confused by Alphonse's growing excitement. He handed back the notebook.

"You mean you don't get it??" Alphonse questioned, ready to burst.

"Get what? That Ed has bad grammar?"

"Look at this!"

Alphonse showed him a rough sketch of random lines.

"Looks like Ed was just trying to get his pen to write," Hohenheim told him, honestly mystified. "What's the big deal?"

"What's the big deal?? Dad! This isn't just a bunch of random lines!"

"Then what is it?"

"It's a map!!"

"How do you know?"

"There are arrows that show directions, and see this?"

He pointed to the compass rose scrawled at the bottom right corner of the page. Hohenheim nodded catching on.

"Okay, it's a map. But, what makes you so excited about the diary?"

"Not diary. Travelogue. Brother used to write all of his research notes in guise of travelogue. I got good enough that I could translate bits and pieces."

The youngest Elric looked at his brother's handwriting, shaking his head.

"Not his best work, but I guess he counts on the fact that no one here writes their research notes in code."

Hohenheim crossed his arms.

"Point?"

"Point: unimportant belongings. U. B. Know anything Brother owns with those same letters?"

"Not off the top of my head."

There was a twinkle in Alphonse's eye, showing that he was clearly enjoying having to lead his father step by painful step.

"What's Brother researching?"

"Uranium."

"In particular?"

"Uranium-235."

"Which is good for?"

"Making nuclear weapons and using in nuclear reactors."

Alphonse waited for it to sink in. It didn't take long.

"U.B." Hohenheim breathed a second later. He smacked himself in the forehead with the heel of his hand. "Of course!"

Alphonse nodded.

"That's right. U.B. Uranium bomb. This tells us exactly where he left the uranium bomb."

Agent Mustang came over at that point, leading a team of agents, giving them orders as to how to handle the briefcase. Before anyone noticed, Alphonse pocketed the small notebook.

"Don't worry, Mr. Elric. We'll do everything we can to get back your son."

Hohenheim nodded and smiled gratefully.

"Thank you, Agent Mustang. We'll be eagerly awaiting your news. Come on, Alphonse."

Alphonse nodded and followed his father outside.

"Dad, are we really going to sit around and wait?" he asked, the idea unsettling.

"Of course. We'll be sitting around in a car and we'll wait for a clue to appear before us as we drive around, trying to pick up Ed's trail."

Alphonse grinned.

"You've got the notebook?"

The youngest Elric patted his left pocket.

"Good. Let's go."

They started towards the car. Alphonse climbed inside, but as Hohenheim went to climb in, a man suddenly appeared at his side.

"If ye want information about yer son's whereabouts, come to the pub down on the corner two blocks from here," he whispered quickly before disappearing again. Hohenheim stared after him, suspicious.

"Dad?" Alphonse inquired from inside the vehicle. Hohenheim shook his head.

"Let's go, Alphonse. I think I know where to start."


	4. Chapter 4

Now the fun really begins!! I think this may possibly be my favorite chapter so far, simply because it's funny!

Obviously this story isn't following the Indiana Jones movie exactly. In the movie they go to Venice, then Berlin, but I am switching things around. I didn't want it to follow the movie EXACTLY because I wanted this to somewhat be my own story, but if you've seen the movie, you know that three fourth's of this story is just an FMA retelling of Spielburg's creative genius. Sorry Spielberg!! Okay, I'll stop now…

Oh man...I just realized...this is the last chapter I have prepared in my arsenal...which means I'll have to hustle and get Chapter 5 done before you mutiny!!

I did warn you that this is a semi-serious crack-fic right? Oh, and watch out for the slightly OOC Alphonse. At least I think it's slightly OOC. (sweatdrops) I could be wrong though. Let me know what you think, and enjoy!!

**Chapter 4**

"You sure about this?" Alphonse asked as he slid out of the vehicle.

"No, but it's all we've got so far."

Alphonse couldn't deny the truth in that. Still, something about what his father had told him struck him as very wrong. People didn't just walk up and claim to have information about your kidnapped family member simply out of the kindness of their hearts. Something told Alphonse that the man wanted something from them. He walked into the pub slightly behind his father, his hands in fists at his sides and his whole body on alert. He kept his eyes on the men surrounding them as his father led the way to the bar and sat down. If anything happened, he'd be ready.

They didn't have long to wait. A man sat down beside Hohenheim with a smile on his face and a beer in his hands.

"Ye decided to come after all, eh?" he said, his voice thick with a drunken Scottish brogue.

"What do you know?" Hohenheim inquired quietly, never looking up from the glass of scotch he'd ordered.

"Ah, straight to the point. No pussyfootin'. I admire that."

Hohenheim just stared at him, clearly displeased. The man chuckled.

"I know where the Nazis are keeping yer boy. But, if ye want that information, it'll cost ye."

Alphonse could see the mounting excitement in the four men sitting at a nearby table. He subtly assumed a defensive stance, his eyes never leaving them.

"How much?"

"£1000."

Hohenheim just smirked and picked up the glass, swallowing the liquor in a smooth, carefully controlled maneuver. He set the glass down.

"No deal."

The man balked.

"Ye want t'know where yer boy is, don'tcha?" he said. "Fine, I'm a fair man…£900."

Hohenheim just smirked again.

"You know what I think?" he asked.

"What?"

"I think you're going to tell me where my son is…for free."

"Can't do that, sir. Trying t'earn me an honest living, y'know. Ye understand, don'tcha?"

Hohenheim smiled.

"Sure I do."

The man smiled at him, displaying missing teeth, until Hohenheim grabbed him tightly by the collar and slammed him, face first, down onto the bar.

"I also know that my son's life is on the line, here. I don't have time to pussyfoot with scum like you."

There was a dangerous look in Hohenheim's eyes while his face remained eerily calm. The man tried to break the older Elric's grip, but Hohenheim was simply too strong.

While Hohenheim was overpowering the man at the bar, the four men at the table jumped up and charged, weapons coming out. They were quickly met by Alphonse. At the sight of the slender young man who was barely half their weight, they only laughed and continued forward. Alphonse didn't blink. In a matter of less than five minutes, he had three of the four groaning or unconscious on the floor, all desire for a fight gone from their minds when the fourth approached him with a knife. The man slashed at Alphonse, who deftly dodged out of the way, overbalancing the man. As the man went past him, Alphonse grabbed his wrist and twisted his arm behind his back, dislodging his hold on the knife. Alphonse kicked the knife to the side and put his arm around the man's neck, holding him out before him like a shield. The other men in the pub hesitated.

"Look," Hohenheim said. "I'm a fair man, and there's no reason for this to end in a bad way. So just tell me where my son is, and I'll let you live."

Having just seen what Alphonse was capable of and having no idea what Hohenheim could to do him, the man quickly complied.

"He's bein' held in a castle at the German border of Austria."

"You're sure?"

The man nodded vigorously. Hohenheim looked at Alphonse and nodded, and Alphonse released his hold on the man, shoving him into a table. The man stayed there, having no desire to try and face the kid again, not after having his behind so candidly handed to him. The older Elric likewise released his hold on his man's collar and laid some money on the counter for his drink.

"Thank you," he said to the bartender, and then to the man still lying on the bar, "Have a nice night."

With that, the two left, no one daring to mess with either of them.

"Nice moves back there," Hohenheim complimented as they got into the car.

"Thanks…but, don't you wonder how that guy knew where Brother is?"

"Nope. And I don't care."

"But what if he works for the Nazis and reports back to them?"

"If he did work for them, he wouldn't be trying to weasel so much money out of us. Besides, if he does work for them, I'll kill him the next time I see him."

Alphonse shuddered, and Hohenheim saw it.

"This is war, Alphonse. Kill or be killed."

Alphonse nodded reluctantly. He could only hope it wouldn't come to that.

"So how do we get in the castle?"

"Let's get there first, and then we'll worry about that."

"But…"

"One bridge at a time, Alphonse. One bridge at a time."

It was raining heavily when they stopped at the very edge of the long driveway. It had taken the two only half an hour to travel to the Austrian-German border, and they were now just about to start the second leg of their rescue mission.

Alphonse looked over at his father.

"Now what?"

"Just follow my lead. And don't talk."

Alphonse wanted to question the man as the car rolled down the drive, but chose to just obey him instead. It was funny, but the longer he worked with his father, the more he felt like he was getting a glimpse at how things were going to be when he and Edward were older. Hohenheim meanwhile, guided the car up to the front steps of the castle and parked it. He jumped out of the vehicle, Alphonse following, and ran up the front steps, banging on the door.

He had to knock several more times until someone finally answered, and thus he and Alphonse were miserably soaked.

"Yes?" said a man in a thick British accent.

"What?? Are ye gonna leave us standin' on the doorstep all night?? We're drenched!!" Hohenheim said, his voice suddenly sounding Scottish. He pushed past the man, sneezing heavily.

"And just who are you??" the man demanded angrily. He was obviously the butler, if his stereotypical penguin suit was any indication.

"Don't ye know??" Hohenheim huffed. "I am the Baron MacGainsborne and this—"here he grabbed Alphonse and dragged him, with a squeak of Alphonse's shoes, into the castle "—is my assistant Bob. We've come to view the tapestries!!"

Alphonse smiled dumbly up at the man, looking in everyway like a scared rabbit staring into the open mouth of the lion.

"What are you talking about??" the man replied dubiously, his gaze shifting back and forth between the two Elrics. Hohenheim stared at him as if he had four heads.

"This is a castle, is it not?? Are there not tapestries??"

The butler straightened sharply, offended.

"This is _indeed_ a castle, and we have _many_ tapestries. But if you expect me to believe this cock-and-bull story you have concocted, _then I will eat my own foot_!"

Hohenheim looked over at Alphonse.

"Oy…a rude one, isn't he?" he said, more for the man's benefit than to Alphonse. Before the man could retort, though, Hohenheim wheeled around and slammed his fist into the man's jaw, rendering him unconscious. The elder Elric dragged the limp body to a nearby closet and stuck him in, shutting the door. As an afterthought, he positioned a nearby chair underneath the knob.

"Let's go," he told his son. Alphonse only followed in disbelief.

They made their way cautiously up the stairs, ducking into the numerous alcoves only twice when they heard footsteps. They came to the top landing and Hohenheim looked both ways before stepping into the hall. He kept tight to the shadows, Alphonse close behind, until they came across some doors. Hohenheim tried the handle for the first door, but found it locked. He continued to the second door. This one was unlocked. He continued to the third door, and here Alphonse saw him hesitate briefly before moving past without trying the handle.

"He's in there," Hohenheim whispered back to his son as he continued down the hall.

"How do you know??" Alphonse asked, wondering to extent of his father's skills. Hohenheim pointed back with a hand up to the ceiling.

"Door's wired."

Alphonse looked up, and sure enough, there above the door was a trip wire that once activated would sound an alarm loudly throughout the entire castle. He frowned, impressed, and followed his father.

They traveled past a railway that looked down into a room that was bustling with activity. Men and women rushed all around, many pointing to maps and talking animatedly while others relayed messages back and forth or manned transistor radios. Most wore dark military uniforms, and they all wore bright red armbands on their left arms, white circles bearing black swastikas. Alphonse gulped, realizing for the first time that he and his father had just walked into the proverbial lion's den. While this one didn't hold actual lions, it was full of something much worse.

Nazis.

A few minutes later, the two entered a room on the opposite side of the castle where they had entered, going into an empty room holding only a table with a lamp and a few chairs. Alphonse rushed across the room to the window and looked out. Straight across the courtyard was another window lit by lamplight.Alphonse jumped onto the window ledge, pushing open the window and looking around, ignoring the rain that was soaking his still damp hair.

"Alphonse? What are you up to?" his father asked behind him.

"I'm going over there," he said. He reached over and pulled free one of the handy rope cords secured against the building. It extended all the way out to a heavy duty iron flag pole in the exact center of the courtyard equidistant from the castle walls surrounding it. Alphonse scanned the distance with a practiced eye and quickly calculated the odds in his head. After a moment, he nodded in satisfaction. He'd get over there with no problems. He stood on the very edge of the window ledge and adjusted his grip on the rope briefly before jumping out into the open. He swung across effortlessly and braced himself for the coming impact.

With a loud crash, he broke through the window into the room beyond, rolling through the flying glass shards, covering his head on the way to the floor. When his momentum played out, he lay on his back, trying to shake off the dizziness, but then a figure loomed over him, brandishing the iron shovel from the fireplace.

"DIE, NAZI SCUM!!"

The iron shovel came swinging down for Alphonse's skull. Alphonse threw his hands up defensively.

"NO, BROTHER!!! IT'S ME!!!" he yelled.

He waited for the impact of the shovel, and when it didn't come, he peeked out from behind his shielding arms.

Edward Elric stared down at his younger brother with surprise and confusion clearly reflected in his golden eyes.

"Al??" he asked a moment later, not entirely sure how to react. Alphonse took that as his cue and jumped to his feet.

"Brother!! Are you alright??" he questioned breathlessly.

Edward nodded absently but was obviously at a loss as he stared dubiously at his brother.

"What are you doing here, Al?"

"I came to rescue you!!"

A long pause followed that.

"You came to rescue me?"

"…yeah."

Another pause.

"_You_ came to rescue _me_."

The question was gone from Edward's tone. Alphonse looked about for a moment, not understanding his brother's confusion.

"…yeah."

Edward paused, shuffled away a few steps, and then came back, his face sarcastically skeptical.

"YOU…came to _rescue…_ ME."

"Yeah."

Edward gave a short laugh, paused, looked at his brother, looked away again and then laughed sharply a few more times.

"Oh, now _that _is rich!" he told his brother. He started to laugh harder. Alphonse put his hands on his hips and frowned as his brother fell into a full-out giggling fit.

"What's _that_ supposed to mean??" he demanded, not finding the humor.

"Come on, Al! We both know you never could have done this by yourself!" Edward managed to choke out before giggling again.

"I didn't!"

"Of course not! So, who'd you bring?"

As if to answer his question, Hohenheim suddenly came swinging in through the already broken window. As soon as the man's feet touched the floor, Edward was on him, screaming a battle cry and swinging the shovel, bashing it into the man's skull repeatedly.

"Brother, stop!!!" Alphonse cried, trying to get his brother to cease. "That's Dad!!!"

"_I know_!!!" his brother shouted back, never breaking stride. "_That's why I'm hitting him_!!!"

He continued to beat his father until the man retaliated, grabbing the shovel and rising to his feet.

"Would you kindly stop that, please?" he said, rubbing a few of his newest bruises and wincing slightly.

"Sorry, old man," Edward replied acidly. "I thought you were one of the Nazis."

"They come in through the doors…ow…you could have killed me, you know."

"Oh darn. What a shame _that_ would have been."

"Ow! Geez! For a small guy, you sure can pack a wallop!"

"DON'T CALL ME SMALL!!"

The two suddenly dissolved into an argument of Edward pointlessly shouting while his father countered in his infuriatingly calm way, escalating the middle Elric's temper to higher levels of uncontrolled rage, while Alphonse tried to get in between and break it up. He found himself fighting a losing battle (as always), but continued to try (as always). They needed to get out of there!

Just then, the door to the room flew open and fifteen, fully armed Nazi soldiers came in, machine guns pointed at the three Elrics. All three of them put their hands up beside their heads and backed away.

"Mr. Elric," said the Nazi in front, obviously the leader. For a second, the three Elrics paused, looking at each other helplessly. Finally, they looked back at the man.

"Yes?" they all three answered tentatively, not really sure who was being addressed. Sensing this, the leader moved forward and pointed his gun at Alphonse, making it blatantly obvious to which individual his next comment was aimed.

"I will take the research notes, now," he said, his tone brooking no argument.

Alphonse smiled nervously.

"W-what research notes?" he replied, a tremor in his voice.

"The notebook in you left coat pocket."

That pocket felt so very heavy suddenly. Before Alphonse could answer, Edward started to laugh sarcastically.

"You idiot!" he said, drawing the leader's attention. "Do you _really_ think he'd be stupid enough to bring the research notes with him??"

He continued to laugh until he caught the look on Alphonse's face. He sobered immediately.

"You didn't bring them, did you?" he asked.

"Uh…" Alphonse said, laughing nervously.

"Please tell me you did _not_ bring the little leather-bound notebook from my briefcase, Alphonse. Just tell me that and I can die happy."

Alphonse could feel himself sweating.

"Well, brother…funny thing about that…uhh…you see…"

"_Oh my God_!" Edward cried, interrupting his brother. He put his hands against his temples in dismay. "_You moron_!!! How could you bring the research notes with you?!?!"

"I'm sorry!! I didn't think about it!!"

"_Al!!!_ That's why I sent _you_ the key and combination, so that _they_ couldn't get to that stuff!!!! Gah!!"

Edward smacked his brother upside the back of his head.

"Moron!!"

"Sorry!" Alphonse cried in despair.

"Imbecile!!"

"I know!!! I'm sorry!!"

"Ed, look. He's sorry, okay? No need to get so upset," Hohenheim interjected. Edward wheeled on his father and glared at him dangerously, looking ready to snap at any second.

"You stay out of this, old man!!" he spat venomously.

"But, he said he's sorry, so just forgive him and let's move on, okay?"

"Quit trying to act like my father!!"

"But, I am your father…"

"No you're not!!! You're just the sperm donor!!"

"That's a little harsh, don't you think?"

"Harsh??? _Harsh??_ If you think _that's _harsh, try having your dad walk out on you and your brother when you're four!!!"

"This again? I thought we were through this already…"

"Uh, guys?" Alphonse tried to interject. "Hello? Nazis. Guns. Guys?"

"Not now, Alphonse!" Edward cut him off. Alphonse sighed.

"They really should leave their family disputes at home," said one of the Nazis.

"Tell me about it," Alphonse agreed. The fight between the older and middle Elrics continued, until the Nazi leader cleared his throat.

"Enough!" he barked. "Give us the research notes now!"

"Do you mind?!" Edward yelled back, steamed. "We are having an argument, here!!!"

"But, I don't really want to argue," Hohenheim put in helplessly.

"Save it!! You owe me for all those years!!!"

Before the fight could repeat itself again, the Nazi leader lost patience and opened fire. The three Elrics cried out in surprise and ducked. Edward somehow managed to flip the table over onto its side and they ducked down behind it in the nick of time, for the other men started shooting as well. When they for a brief moment, Edward jumped to his feet and shook his fist at the men.

"You guys ruined a perfectly good argument, you know, and that's just not right!!!!"

The third Nazi in front on the right shot at him, forcing him to duck again.

"So? What are you going to do about it…_shorty_?" he said smugly.

Hohenheim just sighed while Alphonse hid his face in his hands.

The Nazi soldiers felt assured in their victory. After all, they outnumbered the prisoners to five to one, and they had guns. There was no way the prisoners could win, no matter how good of fighters they were. The odds were definitely in their favor.

These same men also had never had the chance to appreciate what it felt like to be trapped in a room with a ticking time bomb three seconds away from totally annihilating them. Unfortunately for them, they were about to find out.

The hard way.

They couldn't believe that Edward was stupid enough to rise to his feet again, but there he was, coming up into view from behind his cover. They hesitated briefly before shooting, confused, and that was their folly. They could see the skin on the young man's forehead writhing spasmodically, and dark clouds seemed to be gathering around his slender frame. Edward's gaze snapped upwards suddenly, pinning them into place, and the men suddenly and surely became well acquainted with fear as they saw the insane, half-crazed light in those tawny yellow eyes and felt the heat of his rage roiling over them like lava from a volcano. Slowly, methodically, Edward rolled his sleeves up, his eyes never leaving his opponents.

"_That's it_," he said, his tone dangerously low and threatening, ominously reminiscent of the low growl of rolling thunder.

"_It's on._"

From that day forward, all of the men in the room would tell the account about the golden eyed demon that literally flew over the table at them, fists swinging, voice loud and screaming. He could have come at them with fangs bared and it wouldn't have been as frightening as the image of him darting all about, his fists and feet flashing too quickly for the human eye to follow, his attacks seeming to come from all angles at once, disorienting them. They soon found themselves too dizzy to shoot at him. All the while, a string of shrill, highly-agitated babble tumbled from the youth's mouth without pause.

"**_WHO'REYOUCALLINGAPIPSQUEAKMIDGETWHOCOULDDROWNINARAINDROPATTHEBOTTOMOFTHEWATERSPOUTTHATTHEITSYBITSYSPIDERTRIEDTOCLIMBUP??HUH??WHO'REYOUCALLINGSOSHORTTHATEVENTHEHIGHESTPOWEREDMICROSCOPECAN'TSEEHIMWITHITSMOSTPOWERFULLENS??HUH??HUH??GOAHEADANDCALLMESHORTAGAIN!!IDAREYOUTO!!"_**

(A.N.—Translation of Ed spazz: "Who're you calling a pipsqueak midget who could drown in a raindrop at the bottom of the water spout the itsy bitsy spider tried to climb up?? Huh?? Who're you calling so short that even the highest powered microscope can't see him with its most powerful lens?? Huh?? Huh?? Go ahead and call me short again!! I dare you to!!")

In less than two minutes, Edward had single handedly taken down fifteen, fully armed Nazi soldiers by himself with only his fists. When the last man fell, he stood among them in all of his furious glory, panting heavily, fists clenched, his rage far from played out. Hohenheim and Alphonse rose from behind the table.

"Let's go," Hohenheim said, moving past his oldest son into the hallway. Edward followed wordlessly, murderous desire in his eyes, with Alphonse at the rear, looking around at the men laying on the floor in utter shock.

"Brother, look what you did!" Alphonse said, his voice tight with astonishment. "I can't believe what you did! How could you—!!"

His protest ended in a small squeak as Edward's hand shot back and grabbed him by the ponytail, dragging him down the hallway.

Now, go click that little review button and leave a comment!! Go on!! You KNOW you want to!!

Ed: Leave the poor people alone, you crazy woman!

Me: (pouts) But Ed!!

Ed: (twitch) Leave them!!

Me: Awwww...

Al: (pats me on the head) It's okay, Evie...they'll probably review anyway...

Me: (brightens) Okay!!


	5. Chapter 5

(rolls up sleeves) Okay…time to get cracking on Chapter 6.

Sorry this took me so long to get up!! I had hit a writer's block for a while, and then school started back up, so I haven't had too many chances to actually sit down and write this, but here it is!!

Hope you've liked the story so far, and I hope that I will not disappoint as the story continues!! And thank you to all those who have stopped to leave reviews! You've been very helpful!

Read on!

**Chapter 5**

"And just _what _are a bunch of feds doing in Berlin?"

At the sound of the familiar female voice, Agent Roy Mustang grinned and stood up, turning to face the speaker.

"Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in," he replied, leaning against the table and crossing his arms, the smirk never leaving his lips. Standing across the way in a sharply cut burgundy dress suit, a deadly serious glimmer in her brown eyes, and her hands on her hips was Agent Riza Hawkeye of the Central Intelligence Agency of the United States. The CIA was the sister agency of the FBI, established several years after the Bureau to do the Bureau's job in a more covert way. The CIA had a reputation for always getting their way no matter what the cost, and had yet to stumble through an investigation—and they'd earned a reputation for being rather ruthless in their method of investigation. If anything, Agent Hawkeye's stance served only as a poignant example of such ruthlessness, and the look in her eyes warned her FBI counterpart that she was certainly not a woman to be trifled with.

"What are you doing here, Mustang?" the woman asked, crossing her own arms and tossing her head slightly to the side to get some of her blonde bangs out of her eyes.

"Good to see you, too," Mustang replied, his eyes trailing down to look at Hawkeye's shapely legs. Hawkeye frowned, noticing.

"Mustang," she said warningly. At her tone, his coal black eyes returned to hers and he smiled disarmingly.

"Yes, Agent Hawkeye?" he asked in an innocent tone.

"What are you doing here?"

Mustang smirked and shrugged.

"Same thing you are, I'm sure. Unless, of course, you came here specifically to see me…which, by the way, is a perfectly acceptable reason as far as I am concerned."

Hawkeye smirked, but there was no mirth in her grin.

"Hell would have to freeze over before I'd go anywhere specifically to see you."

"I can arrange that."

"Can you, now? What other amazing powers is the almighty Agent Mustang capable of?"

"I can show you, if you're willing to give me the chance."

Mustang's tone was very suggestive, as was his earnest stance and the all-too-eager gleam in his eyes. Hawkeye merely snorted and straightened her shoulders proudly.

"Not interested."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

"Positive?"

"Yes."

"Well, okay…but if you change your mind…"

"I'm sure that my decision will be the same in five minutes when you offer again."

"We'll see."

Hawkeye sighed, and changed the subject back to the matter at hand.

"Seriously, though, why are you here?"

"Investigating the Elric kidnapping, what else?"

Hawkeye walked over to the man's side and studied with a practiced eye the map he had spread across the table before them.

"What have you gotten so far?"

"A missing chemist, no leads, a hysterical librarian, and a briefcase full of research notes written in nearly illegible handwriting. Basically, the beginnings of a bad joke."

"Aha."

She lifted a black and white photo off the table of a young man about 18 years of age. He wasn't impressively built; just a little wisp of a thing with a slender, lean frame. He had long hair and serious eyes, and he wasn't smiling in the photo.

"This the kid?"

"Edward Elric. Age: 18. Eye color: gold. Hair color: blonde. Two relatives, a father, Hohenheim Elric and a younger brother, Alphonse. Known living location: New York. Came back to Germany to research the uranium element. Weight: about 135 lbs. Height…"

Here, Mustang paused in his sermon. Hawkeye looked up, waiting. Mustang smirked and shut his little black notebook, sliding it back into his breast pocket.

"He wouldn't tell us. In fact, he became very volatile when we asked the question, so much so that we had to threaten to tranquilize him before he calmed down."

Hawkeye looked back at the photograph, trying to imagine the serious looking youth throwing such a fit. With a shrug, she picked up another photo of Edward sitting in a chair with his hands folded neatly in his lap. Behind his chair stood a young boy with kind eyes and an easy smile, his right hand in his pocket and his left hand on Edward's shoulder. Edward was looking back over his shoulder at the boy, a soft smile on his face and a loving protectiveness in his eyes.

"Who is that?" Hawkeye inquired, pointing to the boy.

"That's Alphonse. He lives with Edward in New York. He's about 13 or so."

Hawkeye nodded.

"They seem very close."

"They are. This…"

Mustang handed over another photo of a tall, broad shouldered man with long hair. He reminded Hawkeye of an older version of Edward somehow.

"This is Hohenheim. All of our reports state that he doesn't have very much to do with the boys. Sees them occasionally and writes a few letters, but nothing too involved."

Hawkeye nodded.

"So, no leads, huh?"

Mustang set his hands on the table and looked down at the map, begging for it to reveal something to him.

"Nope. None. Nil. Nada. Zilch. Zero. Zippo."

"Okay, okay, I get the picture."

"The biggest problem is Elric's old man and kid brother came by. I don't know how to tell them that I think their loved one has disappeared off the face of this planet!"

Hawkeye had no answer, but the information struck her as a little odd.

"So, tell me…what's a spook like you doing here?" he asked a moment later when he realized that the map simply wasn't going to tell him anything.

"We're joining the investigation. You don't mind, do you?"

"Oh, no," Mustang said, his gaze focused (once again) intently on the woman's curving figure. "I don't mind at all."

She smirked as the suggestive tone returned to his voice and looked at him through hooded eyes.

"I didn't think you would."

"You know, burgundy is really your color."

"Nice try, Agent, but flattery will get you nowhere."

She studied the photos again, committing the faces to memory.

"So, the father and the younger brother were both here? How long ago?"

"About…5 hours ago."

Mustang nodded as he checked his watch.

"Where are they now?"

"I don't know. They said they'd wait for our report, so I'm assuming that they're at a hotel somewhere nearby."

"Have you confirmed that?"

Mustang looked at her and narrowed his eyes.

"What do you know?"

"Nothing, I'd just like to ask them a few questions."

"Uh-huh."

Hawkeye stood up and popped a hip slightly to one side, putting her hand gently against it. She tilted her head inquisitively at Mustang.

"What? Don't you trust me?"

"About as far as I can throw you…"

His eyes roamed her frame again.

"And oh, how I'd love to throw you down and—"

"As much as I hate to interrupt this obviously enjoyable conversation you two are having," came FBI Agent Jean Havoc from the left, "I really must. Roy, if I could speak to you?"

Mustang winked at Hawkeye.

"Don't miss me."

"Oh, trust me. I won't."

Mustang followed his blonde haired underling to a spot a few feet away from Hawkeye, stopping behind a bookshelf.

"This had better be important," Mustang warned, and Havoc smirked.

"Sir, you know I'd never drag you away from Agent Hawkeye without a really excellent reason!" he said in mock dismay, as if he were surprised that Mustang would dare think such a thing. Mustang harrumphed in a satisfied manner and crossed his arms, suddenly businesslike.

"So what's going on?"

"Some guy came in a few minutes ago. Scottish guy in his mid-fifties. Says he's got some dirt on the kidnapping."

"And?"

"He refused to give us any information. Says he wants to talk to the agent in charge."

"Do you think he's reliable?"

"Well…it's all we've got so far, and he seems like he's really confident in whatever he's got."

Mustang sighed at the sheer tediousness of it all.

"Alright. Where is he?"

"This way, sir."

The two FBI men walked over to a nearby table situated in a small alcove. Sitting on one side of it, a haughty posture to his body, was a grizzled man of stocky build. He was obviously a man who'd recently fallen down on his luck—probably from the whiskey he reeked of so terribly. He was badly in need of a shave, a shower, and a change of clothes. Despite his outward appearance, though, his gray eyes possessed a spirit of a man who was quick witted and shrewd. If only he could put down the bottle for a while…

"Hello, sir," Mustang greeted as he came up, sitting down in the chair across the table from the man. The man stared hard at the FBI agent for a moment.

"Ye the agent in charge 'round 'ere?"

"Yes, sir, I am."

Mustang pulled out his badge and showed it to the man.

"I'm Agent Roy Mustang from the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I understand that you might have some information that pertains to our case?"

The man grunted approvingly, and Roy put the badge away. The man leaned forward.

"Aye, I've got some information 'bout the boy who was kidnapped."

"Really? And your name is…?"

"Seamus O'Brian."

"And how did you come by such information, Mr. O'Brian?"

"I live in the alley not too far 'way from 'ere. Saw the whole thing."

"You saw Edward Elric being abducted?"

"Aye, that I did."

"Can you describe what happened?"

"Aye. But, it'll cost ye."

Mustang looked up from his notebook in surprise.

"Excuse me?"

"Oy, I'm a business man, Agent. A man's gotta make a livin', don't 'e?"

Mustang, catching on, smiled politely and leaned forward.

"How about I don't arrest you for withholding pertinent information and trying to solicit money from a government official? How does that sound, Mr. O'Brian?"

The man balked. Mustang let him sputter for a moment and see the uncompromising look in his coal eyes before his gaze returned back to his notebook.

"You were saying, Mr. O'Brian?"

The man mumbled something inaudibly under his breath.

"What did you just say?"

"You're just like them other blokes."

Mustang looked up again.

"Excuse me? You shared this information with others?"

"So what if I did?"

"Who did you share this information with?"

"What's it matter t'ye?"

"Mr. O'Brian, I can easily slap 'impeding a federal investigation' onto the list of charges you're beginning to accumulate. Tell me who you shared this information with."

The man sank down in his chair in defeat.

"The boy's old man."

Mustang gaped.

"Mr. Elric??"

"Aye."

"What _exactly_ did you tell him?"

O'Brian sighed.

"Yer boy's bein' 'eld in a castle at the German border o' Austria."

"You're sure?"

"Aye."

"How so?"

"There were three men who grabbed the boy. I know a little o' German, and they said something 'bout 'eading for the castle."

Mustang hurriedly scribbled that down and stood up.

"Agent Havoc?"

"Yeah?"

"Get the car. We're going on a road trip."

"Yes, sir."

The blonde haired man scurried away to follow the order.

"Agent Fuery?"

"Here!"

The small, dark haired man came over.

"How can I help?" he asked.

"Call all the hotels in the area. Confirm if Hohenheim and Alphonse Elric are staying at one of them and whether they are there. Tell me if you find out anything."

"Yes, sir."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"They're not at the hotel?"

"No, ma'am. It's just like you thought."

Hawkeye nodded.

"Thank you, Falman."

The thin, silver haired man nodded. Hawkeye turned back to the map.

"So…where are they?"

Maria Ross approached.

"Ma'am, I overheard Mustang's conversation with Seamus O'Brian. He said Edward Elric is being held at a castle at the border with Austria."

Hawkeye smiled appreciatively at the woman and turned to Falman.

"And that's probably where we'll find the other Elrics," the man said, voicing her idea. Hawkeye nodded.

"Let's go," she said, leading the way to the doors. "I aim to find them first."

"Yes, ma'am."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Breathlessly, Edward dove around a pillar, landing beside his father in the alcove. He lay still and panted for air, smiling encouragingly to Alphonse's concerned expression. Bullets whizzed wildly past the three, chipping away at their stone cover, pinging off the ornate candle sticks. The flash of the barrel lit up the hallway in a deadly display reminiscent of fireworks. Edward rolled to his knees.

"What now?" he asked his father.

"I say we split up. I'll go left, and you take Alphonse and go right. They can't get all of us at once that way."

Edward looked to Alphonse for his opinion, but the youngest Elric only shrugged helplessly, having no other ideas.

"Okay," Edward agreed a moment later. Hohenheim nodded.

"Wait for them to cease fire," the oldest Elric told him. Edward nodded, tensing.

They didn't have long to wait. Growing impatient with their prey's lack of activity, the Nazis stopped shooting, ready to approach the alcove.

"_Go!"_ Hohenheim hissed. Instantly, the three darted out into the hallway, heading a few feet to the intersection. The gunfire started up again, but the Elrics were out of range, Hohenheim darting left down the hallway while his sons raced to the right.

"After them!!"

The Nazis took off after the three, the group splitting in half, five going after Hohenheim, five after Edward and Alphonse.

Edward led the way through the winding corridors, darting left, right, right, and left again, Alphonse only a step behind and keeping pace easily. Unfortunately, the Nazis knew the inner workings of the castle better than them, and quickly closed the distance.

"What do we do??" Alphonse gasped out desperately, realizing that fleeing was fast becoming a moot option.

"This way!!" Edward called in response. He darted around another corner and opened the door to the room just ahead, freezing dead in his tracks. His stop was so sudden that Alphonse, who could not stop his momentum, crashed right into his back.

"Ow! Brother!! What are you…?"

The question died in his throat as the twenty Nazi soldiers in the room stared back at the two Elrics with forty pairs of surprised eyes. Alphonse and Edward laughed nervously, sweating.

"Oops!" Edward chimed, his trembling voice full of fake cheerfulness. "Wrong door!! Sorry!"

He quickly shut the door, the uneasy smile leaving his face instantly.

"_Run,_" he told Alphonse. He didn't have to tell him twice. They turned and sprinted off down the hallway, followed shortly by the five plus twenty Nazis trying to capture them.

"Smooth, big brother!! Really smooth!!"

"Shut up and keep running!!!"

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Hohenheim crouched silently behind the pillar, listening intently to the booted feet moving about the room. The room was dimly lit by the electric lights set up to replace the medieval torches that had once been there, and the darkness lent aid to Hohenheim and hindered the men. As they circled about the room, guns at the ready, they spoke to each other in German, but Hohenheim had been in the country long enough to have learned the language fluently.

"Where is he?"

"I don't know!"

"Find him!"

One man drifted near to Hohenheim's location, his back to the man. Hohenheim smirked. Having been in more fights in his 1000 year lifetime than any normal man might see in 100, this was simply all too easy for him. In a swift easy motion, he grabbed the man from behind, covering his mouth to muffle his cries and landing a hard chop with the side of his hand to the man's neck. The man fell unconscious in an instant, and Hohenheim gently lowered him to the floor, taking his gun and bullets.

"What was that??"

"Over there!!"

As the men rushed over, Hohenheim swiftly and silently slithered to the far right side of the room, hiding beside another pillar in the darkest shadows of the alcove.

"Stay alert, men," he heard one man order, and he could only smirk at that. He was more confident in his abilities to hide than their abilities to find him.

"Hurry up and find him! We have to kill the bastard so we can move on and find his brats!!"

That hurt Hohenheim more than he cared to admit. Sure, he wasn't terribly involved in his sons' lives, but they were his sons none-the-less.

He suddenly found himself wondering about them. Were they okay? Did they make it out yet?

He heard a shuffle to his right that was far too close for comfort. He shook himself. No time to get distracted. He had to stay focused and trust that his boys could take care of themselves. With that thought in mind, he darted out of his hiding spot, clothes-lining the man right beyond the alcove and continuing forward into the center of the room.

"There!! Fire!!"

Gunfire flew wildly about the room, the flash illuminating the annoyed, concentrating expressions of the Nazi soldiers surrounding him. Miraculously, Hohenheim managed to avoid all the gunfire and began to systematically take down the men, one by one. The first two were not expecting the moves, but the third man, having seen what his companions had encountered, managed to block Hohenheim's first devastating attack. Hohenheim grimaced. This was going to cost him more time than he was willing to spend. He started swinging punches, launching attacks from all angles, but to no avail. The man blocked every swing.

Suddenly, Hohenheim felt a sharp blow to the back of his head that could only be the butt of an MP-40 Submachine gun. He grunted and fell the ground, quickly losing consciousness.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Edward wasn't entirely sure he would ever be able to breathe normally again. He figured that by this point, he had surpassed the need to draw air into his lungs and could continue quite nicely on pure conscious thought alone.

Alphonse, meanwhile, was silently cursing his older brother's luck with every ragged breath he could manage to drag in.

The two had now accumulated a pursuing group of what they could only guesstimate was 35 to 45 Nazis, all with the intent to capture, or quite possibly, kill them. Edward's brain began to speed into motion, trying desperately to formulate some sort of plan that could get his brother and himself out of this mess unscathed.

"This way!!" he managed to gasp out, going right. Alphonse followed wordlessly, trusting his brother's judgment—well, maybe not entirely, but in situations like the one they found themselves in, Edward had never given him a reason _not_ to trust him. Edward darted in through a door into a dust choked room with a long mahogany table surrounded by chairs made of the same wood. It was obvious to the brothers that the room had not held life within its four walls for decades, maybe even centuries.

"What now?" Alphonse asked, bent in half with his hands resting on his thighs as he tried to heave air into his oxygen-depraved lungs.

"Back here."

Edward led the way to a door connecting this room to the next. After a bit of a struggle trying to open a door that had frozen into place from disuse, he managed to yank it out and usher Alphonse inside.

"Stay here," he ordered. Alphonse nodded, and with that, Edward moved back out into the first room.

He maneuvered his way through the room softly and swiftly, his body held somewhat sideways, his knees slightly bent, his torso slightly bent forward at the waist, his right arm out before his body, his left bent at the elbow and held tight to his side, ready to launch an attack. He stepped toe to heel, placing the ball of his leading foot firmly onto the ground before ever placing his heel down. In this manner, he eventually made it back to the main door of the connected rooms. As quietly as possible, he cracked open the door and peered into the hallway for signs of their pursuers. He didn't know if it was merely the angle he was at, or if the rooms were really well sound-proofed, but he could not see or hear any of the Nazi that should have been milling about. The hairs stood up on the back of his neck as the realization hit him. Something wasn't right. 45 men with heavy guns couldn't just disappear from existence.

Edward sucked in a sharp breath. _Alphonse…_

He moved away from the door and headed back for the room where he'd left Alphonse, panic starting to grip him. _There must be another door nearby! Oh please, God, let there only be one door…!_

"Alphonse?" he asked as he opened the door. "Where—?"

He stopped, and the blood in his veins froze to ice at the sight of his younger brother being held tightly by an SS soldier, both of his arms twisted painfully behind him and a black chrome P08 Parabellum pistol pressed up under his jawbone against the main artery in his throat. The boy struggled wildly for freedom, but the man was far too strong for him. Edward's eyes drifted to the left hand side of the room where two large oak doors stood wide open, and the 44 other Nazi soldiers stood, their weapons at the ready and aimed Edward's way.

"Brother, run!!" Alphonse cried, drawing his attention back to the scene before him. The boy's captor answered that by stabbing the narrow barrel a few more centimeters into his flesh. Alphonse yelped in pain but went silent.

"Put your hands into the air, Mr. Elric," the soldier commanded. Edward hesitated for just a moment, contemplating rushing the man and striking hard and fast.

The heart-stopping click from the pistol being cocked made the decision for him.

"Do it, Mr. Elric, or I _will_ kill the boy."

Alphonse closed his eyes, and his older brother could see the trembling in his knees despite his efforts to hide it.

"Brother…don't…" Alphonse said, trying to hide the quaver in his voice.

Edward stood looking at his brother a long time, noting the fearful but determined set to the boy's jaw and the unwillingness to surrender even now in the clutches of danger. He also looked into the eyes of the soldier who held his younger brother, noting the uncompromising glint and the cold bottomlessness, the man's utter willingness to end Alphonse's life without remorse. All he could think about was how much he would really enjoy popping the man in the kisser with a metal fist.

In the end, though, he put his hands up by his head, and surrendered.

Alphonse's heart stopped as he realized that he'd become his brother's liability. But, Edward did not blame him. He would not. Alphonse was his brother, and he had to protect him.

Because, in this world…there was no alchemy to restore him back to life.

Edward Elric could take chances and often did. He had no fear of them.

But, with his brother's life on the line, there were some chances he just wasn't willing to take.

He complied without protest when his brother's captor ordered him to get down on his knees and put his hands behind his head. He didn't fight the two men who grabbed him and roughly pulled his arms behind his back, tying them tightly with coarse ropes. He rose swiftly to his feet when they told him to, and followed them obediently as they led him away, back to their central wing of the castle, and two others came behind him with his brother held between them.

But he would only continue to behave as long as they had that pistol pressed against his brother's head. The minute that P08 moved was the minute that he would strike.

And not a minute before.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Please leave a review and let me know what you liked, didn't like, etc! Thanks!


	6. Chapter 6

Okay, here's Chapter 6! Chapter 7 will be coming soon (hopefully)! Enjoy, and please leave a review!! Thank you to everyone who already has taken time to review, and please continue to give feedback!

Read on!!

**Chapter 6**

Edward grimaced as he was thrown roughly into a high backed, wooden chair. Alphonse was thrown into a similar chair beside him a moment later, and the two brothers exchanged glances—checking to make sure that the other was okay—before looking to the left. There, in a third chair, sat their father, looking a little haggard and worn out. Hohenheim smiled over at his sons when he noticed their attention.

"Hey, boys," he said cheerily.

"'Hey, boys'??" Edward replied incredulously. "We're being held prisoner by the Nazis, and all you can say is 'hey, boys'??"

Hohenheim merely shrugged and Edward sighed.

"So what now?" Alphonse asked.

As if to answer his question, a nearby Nazi soldier appeared before him and bent down, reaching into Alphonse's left coat pocket and pulling free the little leather bound notebook it was holding.

"Hey!" he protested, and Edward started to rise from his chair, but a rather large Nazi came over and shoved him back down into his seat. When Edward tried to rise again in retaliation, the man swiftly drew his pistol and cracked the butt of it on the side of the young man's head. Edward yelped in pain, but he dropped back into the chair and glared up into the barrel of the pistol now level with his forehead.

Meanwhile, the first Nazi moved over to the other side of the room where a high backed chair sat facing the fireplace. A little fire crackled merrily there, throwing a warm glow into the room—a contrast to the coldness of the surrounding Nazis. Edward watched as his research book was handed over into the palm of a familiar slender hand and he gritted his teeth. He knew they wouldn't be able to make heads or tails out of the writings, but just seeing that book in their clutches irritated him. After a few moments, the sound of pages turning ceased and there was the sound of someone rising from the chair. A slender, dark haired man came into view from around it, lighting a cigarette and taking a long draw on it. He stood there nonchalantly for another moment, the fingers of his right hand deftly closing the book while he held the cigarette up to his lips between the slender fingers of his left hand. He bounced Edward's travelogue in his hand, as if judging its weight, and he studied the three before him wordlessly. He pulled in another lazy drag on his cigarette, letting the smoke swirl daintily into the air before moving over to stand directly before the Elrics.

He let his dark amber eyes rest on Alphonse and Hohenheim curiously for a few moments before turning to Edward.

"I must say, Monsieur Edward…that was quite an impressive show you put on," he said, his smooth voice thick with a heavy French accent. "I was almost sure you would get away this time."

"So sorry to disappoint you," Edward spat back, venom dripping from his every word. The man merely smiled.

"Ah well...perhaps the next time you will get lucky!"

Suddenly, something behind the young man's back caught his eye. He moved over to Edward's right side and peered intently. Edward stared at him hard, not understanding what he was looking at.

"How very interesting," the man remarked, his left hand going to his chin. Edward grimaced as comprehension dawned. He unconsciously tightened his right hand into a fist.

"A metal arm? I've never seen anything like it."

The man looked the youth in the eyes, smirking.

"Very interesting. It seems that you've been keeping quite a few secrets from us, Monsieur Edward."

Edward's cold and blank expression did not change.

With his smile still firmly planted on his face, the man moved to stand in front of Alphonse and studied the boy closely, the book tapping thoughtfully against his left elbow.

"And this must be young Alphonse, hmm?" he said, looking to Edward for confirmation. Edward shot him a dirty look. The man smiled again and returned his gaze to Alphonse, addressing him.

"Bonjour, Monsieur Alphonse. It is so nice of you to stop in to see us."

Alphonse stared at the man, his mouth stern and his eyes hard.

"You have me at a disadvantage, sir. You know my name, but I do not know yours," he said, coldly polite. The man's smile widened, but he didn't say anything for a moment. Instead, he looked to his left to Edward for a moment before returning his gaze to Alphonse.

"You are so polite. Are you sure that you two are related?"

Edward growled and fantasized about his metal foot making contact with the man's head.

The man, meanwhile, stepped back a few steps and bowed low to Alphonse.

"Forgive my rudeness and allow me to introduce myself. I am Andre de Martigue. A pleasure, monsieur."

Alphonse's expression did not change.

"What do you want with us?" Hohenheim inquired. Martigue smirked.

"Monsieur Edward knows…don't you, monsieur?"

Edward didn't answer.

"Oh, come now. Don't be like that. We are all friends here."

"With friends like you, who needs enemies?" Edward bit back. Martigue laughed.

"I am glad to see that you have still retained your sense of humor."

He turned back to Hohenheim.

"You have a fine son, Monsieur Elric. He is a young man full of integrity and courage. Even when faced with certain death, he refused to give us any of the information we asked for. But, in recalling your own actions, monsieur, I must say that I am now not surprised."

"You still haven't answered my question," Hohenheim responded. Martigue laughed again.

"Direct and to the point. I admire that in you, monsieur, and as such I shall satisfy your curiosity."

He moved off a few steps, clasping his hands behind his back and pacing back and forth for a moment, pausing only to go to the ashtray beside his chair and stubbing out his cigarette. His motions were somewhat akin to those of a teacher preparing to give a lecture.

"You know that young Edward maintains ownership of an item called the uranium bomb, oui? …I will take your silence as a yes. Well, we—that is, my employers and I—are very interested in this technology."

"You want the bomb for your war."

Hohenheim did not sound pleased.

"Not just the bomb, monsieur."

Martigue's grip on the book tightened.

"We want the ability to create more. Dozens more."

He looked to Edward and smiled as if he and the young man were old friends. The power-hungry light in his dark eyes was the only thing throwing off the illusion. Edward's glare only intensified.

"It would seem that young Edward here is the only man with that knowledge. Am I not correct, monsieur?"

Edward looked away. Martigue moved to him and grabbed his chin, forcing his golden eyes to meet his dark amber ones.

"And you will share that information with us, will you not, monsieur?"

"Like hell I will!!" Edward spat. Martigue frowned disapprovingly and moved back.

"Aw, what's the matter, Andy?" Edward taunted. "Was that not the answer that you were looking for?"

Martigue's eyes flashed dangerously and he backhanded the young man with brutal force, causing him to grunt and almost fall out of his chair.

"I will not tolerate your insolence any further, monsieur," he said acidly. Edward's only response was to grin wickedly.

"Ohhhh…you don't _like_ being called Andy, do you?"

Martigue hit him again in the opposite direction, and the blow contained enough force to draw blood. Somehow, Edward managed to sustain his impish expression.

"Wow…that _really_ pisses you off, doesn't it?"

He licked casually at the tiny amount of blood trickling in the corner of his lips.

"I'm going to enjoy this."

Before Martigue could respond, a Nazi rushed into the room.

"Heir Martigue!" he called.

"Oui?"

"Our position has been compromised!"

The Frenchman balked.

"What?? How??"

"I do not know, mien heir! All I know is that two groups of Americans—the Federal Bureau of Investigation and the Central Intelligence Agency—are on their way here as we speak!"

"Damn!" Martigue spat. He looked down at the notebook in his hand as if it had all the answers.

"What shall we do, mien heir?"

The man's gaze drifted back over to the Elrics, and he studied them before answering.

He gestured to the two men standing behind Edward.

"You two."

"Sir!" they both answered, straightening.

"Fetch Monsieur Edward's things and meet us at the airstrip. We're taking a little vacation."

"Yes, Heir Martigue!"

The men hurried off to follow the order.

"You," he said, gesturing to a group of five Nazis. "Come with me. And bring Monsieur Edward with you."

Martigue headed for the door as two of the five grabbed Edward and roughly yanked him from his seat. The young man protested and tried to fight them, but was having no success with his hands tied behind his back.

"Mien heir!" one of the remaining three men called.

"Oui?"

"What of the rest of us?"

"Get out of the castle however you can."

"And what of these two?" he asked, gesturing to Alphonse and Hohenheim.

Martigue studied them a moment, and then shrugged.

"Kill them."

"What??" Edward cried, and he lurched against his captors' grips.

The man smiled wickedly and saluted Martigue.

"With pleasure, mien heir."

"_Bastard_!!!!" Edward shouted, fighting as hard as he could. "_Don't you dare lay a hand on my brother or I will kill you_!!!!"

Martigue turned to the door again.

"Please, monsieur. Shut him up."

The SS soldier on the left of the young chemist nodded and drew his pistol. He cracked it against the back of Edward's neck, right in the tender flesh under his skull. Edward grunted in surprise, and his eyes rolled back in his head. He fell into the other Nazi's arms as limp as a rag doll, and, without a word, the man lifted the unconscious body and threw him unceremoniously over one of his thick, broad shoulders. The two then proceeded to follow Martigue out of the room.

_"Brother!!"_ Alphonse screamed. He tried to rise from the chair, but one of the men pushed him back down. He growled angrily in response and kicked the man hard in the knee. The man howled in pain and drew back. As another of his fellow Nazis came over to deal with the boy, Hohenheim rose from his chair, his hands free from his bindings somehow, and he body-slammed the man, knocking the wind from his lungs and driving him to the floor. He then spun on his heel and circle-kicked the last approaching Nazi in the stomach. As the man doubled over, Hohenheim delivered a devastating blow with his elbow to the back of the man's neck. He turned to face the Nazi Alphonse had kicked and found that the man had drawn his P08 Parabellum, holding its barrel in Alphonse's direction.

"Come any closer and I shoot!" he yelled, and Hohenheim could tell he was afraid. Before anyone could react, Alphonse jumped from his chair and rushed the man, who fired in surprise. The shot flew wide, far from ever hitting the youngest Elric, who smashed his shoulder into the man's solar plexus, driving him into the wall behind with all the force his 111 pound frame could muster. Hohenheim came over and socked the man in the jaw, dropping him to the ground. With all the threats finally neutralized, Hohenheim quickly untied Alphonse's hands and took off, his son swiftly following a step behind.

Fifteen minutes later, they had to stop and hide at the top of the flight of steps leading to the front door. Martigue stood talking with the butler Hohenheim had dropped hours ago. The man was holding an ice pack against the spot where his head had knocked against the wall.

"Where will you be going, sir?"

"To Venice. It's very nice this time of year."

"When should we expect you back?"

"Oh, I don't think I will ever come back. Here."

He handed the butler a thick envelope.

"This should be enough for you to by a place of your own, oui?"

The man opened the envelope and his eyes verily lit up.

"Thank you, sir!"

Martigue nodded, and then walked out into the night beyond. He climbed into the black limousine, looking over to where his men had propped the unconscious Edward.

He smirked and nodded to the driver. The car lurched into motion and disappeared into the night beyond.

Meanwhile, back by the door of the castle, the butler was eagerly counting his money. Suddenly, a shadow fell across him, and before he could react, Hohenheim smashed his fist into the man's nose. He slammed against the wall again, his world crashing once more into darkness, and Hohenheim picked up the envelope, opening it.

"Whoa," he breathed, his eyes widening. "This'll definitely be enough to pay for our tickets to Venice."

"Dad!" Alphonse protested. "We can't steal his money!"

"It's not stealing…we're investing it in a good cause."

"_Dad._"

"No time to argue, Alphonse. We've got to get to the airport."

Alphonse groaned as his father ran out the door, but he followed after, unable to shake the feeling that he was once again getting a glimpse of what Edward would be like when he got older.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

You know...I think that Edward is a slight masochist.

Ed: What??? I am not!!!

Oh, come on!! You frickin' licked blood off your mouth, and this isn't the first time!! You did it in the manga at least twice!!

Ed: That doesn't mean I get gratification from it!!!! I'm just trying to get it out of the way!!!

Sure sure...

Ed: Al!! Tell her!!

Al: ...I'm Switzerland...I'm neutral...

Ed: What???

See? Even Al thinks so.

Ed: Al!!!!!

Al: I plead the fifth.

Ed: Rawrg!!!


	7. Chapter 7

Sorry this took so long to update!! You know, getting the characters from Point A to Point B is the hardest part for me to write. I know exactly what's going to happen to everyone once they're IN the cities, but getting them there is so difficult!!! (musses hair in frustration) So, here you go!! Enjoy, and please leave a review!!

**Chapter 7**

"So what how do you want to handle this guy?"

Roy was referring to the butler, Harold Lancaster, whom they had picked up from the castle and who was currently sitting in the interrogation room at the US Embassy in Berlin. His normally meticulously groomed brown hair was slightly mussed and he was no longer wearing his outer black coat or tie. It was obvious to the two intelligence agents that he was rather perturbed by his current situation and would thusly be rather uncooperative to deal with. Riza merely shrugged.

"Good cop, bad cop?" she suggested.

"Okay."

"I get bad cop."

"Works for me."

When the CIA and the FBI had finally arrived at the castle, several groups of the Nazis had been trying to flee, but had quickly been captured. A raid of the castle had revealed evidence that the Elrics had indeed been there, but the three had been no where in sight when the two agencies had arrived. So far, the 85 captured Nazis had all refused to give up any information, and the two agents knew that they'd never get anywhere with people who feared their bosses more than the FBI or CIA. But Roy and Riza figured that they could shake this guy up. He might be a pretentious British snob who often acted as if he were the only man worthy to walk on the face of this Earth, but he was certainly no Nazi. He could be broken, and quite easily.

Flashing a smile to his counterpart, Mustang led the way into the room and took the seat across the table from the man. Hawkeye moved across the room to stand at the "window"—which was actually a one way mirror—behind Lancaster. The man stared at them in challenge, his frown deepening.

"So, Mr. Lancaster. Talk to us," Roy started casually, opening his small black notebook and taking his pencil in hand.

"I won't say a bloody thing until my lawyer arrives," the man replied snottily.

"You'll tell us what we need to know when we want to know!" Riza replied, leaning over the man's shoulder threateningly.

"Now, now, Agent Hawkeye…give the man some space. Can I get you some water, Mr. Lancaster? Or some tea, perhaps?"

"Don't coddle him!"

"I know what you're trying to do," Lancaster put in before the conversation could continue. "And it's not going to work."

"Oh, really?" Hawkeye asked, as if she felt the man was personally challenging her.

"Yes. I won't say a bloody thing until my lawyer arrives."

Riza snorted.

"We don't give a damn about your lawyer!" she shouted a moment later, slamming her hands on the table and leaning in threateningly towards the man. "You're going to tell us what we want to know, and you're going to do it with a smile!"

The man balked. He was definitely not used to being treated in such a manner. He met Hawkeye's eyes coldly, gray to brown. What right did this American have to treat him so? He was a gentleman! He looked over at Roy, as if to ask him how he could allow the woman to continue. Mustang was too busy looking over the notes in his notebook. His cheek rested against the knuckles of his left hand, and a slight smirk lit his lips.

"Talk, scumbag, before I have to get rough," Hawkeye barked, crossing her arms and sitting on the edge of the table.

"I will do no such thing if you're going to continue to be so rude!" he spat back. Hawkeye grabbed him by his collar and hoisted him close to her face.

"I'm telling you right now, if you don't tell me what I want to know, I will break every bone in your body!"

"You haven't the legal authority or the right to do so! So, you can stop making idle threats, agent, because they're not going to work!!"

Something flashed through Hawkeye's brown eyes, and she slammed the man back into his seat with enough force to knock him to the floor. He stared up at the woman in absolute shock.

"How dare you!!" he shouted angrily.

"How? Here's how," she retorted. "I dare it, you take it, end of story!!"

She yanked him back up off the floor and righted his chair, slamming him back down into it. The man was furious, but before he could spit out another angry declaration of protest, Mustang interrupted.

"I'd do what the lady says, if I were you," he advised in a calm voice. "It's definitely better to be on her good side."

The man looked helplessly between the two for several moments, reading the careless, unconcerned expression on Mustang's face and the murderous, uncompromising glint in Hawkeye's eyes, his lips flapping incredulously, attempting to form words that simply wouldn't come. Finally, he realized that he simply couldn't win against these two, and his shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Alright," he gave in. Mustang's eyes focused on him and Hawkeye's lips firmed up in triumph. "What do you want to know?"

"Who is your boss?" Mustang inquired, his pencil poised.

"His name is Andre de Martigue."

"French?" Hawkeye asked. "What's a Frenchman doing with the Nazis?"

"He thinks his government's structure is weak, and wants to help the Nazi leaders conquer France."

"When did he hire you?" Mustang picked up again, his pencil scribbling the information down.

"Right after he came to Germany."

"What was your job?"

"Butler, what else?"

"Are you getting smart with us?" Hawkeye demanded. The man didn't answer.

"He also made me play babysitter to that damned little brat he kidnapped," he said instead.

"Where is Martigue going?" Mustang asked.

"Venice, Italy."

"Why?"

"He's trying to throw off your trail. He has a villa there, on the riverside. Its cared for by a lady friend of his."

"Her name?"

"I don't know that. He's never told me."

"Are the Elrics with him?"

"There are more? …I only know of the one."

At that, Mustang looked up in surprise.

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Which one?"

"The loudmouth blonde with the horrid temper…he's a short little thing...only so tall."

The man placed his hand up around his shoulder, palm facing the floor. He shook his head.

"Rude little thing…he could throw _such_ a _fit_…threw a shoe at me once over some nonsensical thing…all I asked was whether he wanted some milk in his damn coffee."

"Do you remember his name?" Hawkeye interjected, knowing that he was probably speaking about Edward Elric, but wanting to double check. The man put a hand against his chin for a moment, his eyes staring blankly to the right. In a moment, he snapped his fingers.

"I believe it was Edward…yes, that's it! I remember, because I thought it was ironic for someone so rude to have a gentleman's name!"

Mustang smirked at that one, and then sobered quickly before the man could see.

"And Edward is with Martigue?"

"Yes."

"Alive?"

"Very much so."

"And you expect us to believe that you know nothing about the other Elrics?" Hawkeye put in, her brown eyes narrowing dangerously.

"No! I know nothing of them!"

Hawkeye threw the photos of Hohenheim and Alphonse on the table before him.

"Recognize them?"

His eyes lit up, but his expression grew quickly distressed.

"Oh…my…" he said, dropping his head into his hands.

"What?" Mustang asked.

"I think I do know of them," he said, rubbing his jaw in memory. "I believe I've run into the old man's fist a few times…"

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"So, I'd say it's pretty safe to assume that the other two Elrics are headed for Venice," Mustang said as he shifted in the chair placed near the bedside of the recovering Denny Brosh. Brosh had finally regained consciousness and had been demanding for some time to know what had happened to Edward. When Mustang had heard the news, he'd made it his personal responsibility to deliver the information to his downed man.

"And you're sure that Edward's okay?" the other agent asked, his voice weak and hoarse from the recent removal of his respirator. Mustang smiled. Typical Brosh. Always concerned about his assignments.

"From what little the Nazis we've captured have told us, Edward's well enough alive and kicking…literally."

Brosh smiled and stared up at the ceiling.

"I wish I could go with you."

He threw his right arm over his eyes.

"I can't believe how badly I screwed this one up!" he growled, mentally kicking himself—simply because he didn't have the strength to physically do so.

"You did what you had to," Mustang replied, his tone brooking no argument. "Your job was to keep him safe, and you did that."

"But he's not safe! He's a prisoner!!"

"He's alive, Denny. That's all that matters."

"For how long?"

The question hit hard, and Roy found himself unable to answer it.

In the end, he just patted the man's shoulder.

"You just rest up, okay? I'm going to need you soon, so the more you rest, the faster you'll heal, and the faster you can join up with us, okay?"

Brosh nodded and rested back. Mustang rose from his seat.

"We've got to get to Venice fast and find these guys…I'll try to keep you updated as much as possible, okay?"

"Sure."

"Take care, Brosh."

Mustang headed for the door.

"Roy," he heard behind him as his hand touched the handle. He turned back to the man and into his pleading hazel eyes.

"Please, Roy. Find him for me."

Mustang smirked and put his hat on his head.

"Denny…you're talking to Roy Mustang. Of course I'll find him. No worries."

Brosh smiled at his boss and waved weakly, and with that, Mustang left the room.

"How is he?" Fuery asked as soon as his boss entered the waiting room.

"He'll be fine. The injury to his pride's worse than what he's in here for. But, come on. We've got a kid to find."

They all nodded.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Martigue stepped off his private jet into the Italian sunshine with a satisfied sigh.

"Ah, Venice," he said, breathing in the warm, salty air. It was so good to be out of dreary Germany with its incessantly rainy weather and back into the civilized world. He stepped lightly down the steps to the concrete runway with a bounce in his step and a slight smile on his face. Following behind with a very serious expression on his handsome face was Edward. He moved slowly, almost like a condemned man trying to forestall his imminent execution, and as a result, he was shoved lightly from behind, a gentle nudge from his Nazi escort to keep in motion. Edward glowered at that, his frown only deepening. He was starting to get a headache from being around these guys so long. Yet, without any other avenue open to him, the young chemist continued forward, following Martigue and his escorts to the idling black limousine (what was it with this guy and limos? Edward wondered) waiting for them a few feet from the plane.

"Monsieur Martigue," greeted the driver, a wizened old Frenchman with neatly trimmed graying hair hidden mostly under his shiny black driver's cap.

"Jacques," Martigue answered. "It's good to see you."

Suddenly, the back door to the limousine opened. A woman slid out into the sunshine with sensuous ease and rose to her full height. She was exquisitely beautiful, with dark red waves of hair floating about her shoulders and playfully brilliant green eyes. She wore a deep maroon dress that was low-cut and revealing, displaying her perfectly smooth, creamy white breasts. A long black trench coat was thrown carelessly about her shoulders to keep her warm. She stood in a languid manner, her arms casually crossed beneath her bosom, and her rouged mouth quirked up in a sly smile.

"Andre," she said, her tone playful and suggestive, her voice rich and velvety. "It's been too long." There was a slight Italian accent dancing on her tongue.

"Indeed it has, my dear, sweet, beautiful Capricia," Martigue replied, moving forward to embrace her and deliver a kiss to her perfectly smooth cheek. Her eyes moved past him and alighted on Edward. He raised his eyes to meet hers in challenge, and they locked that way, gold to green. In a few minutes, her smile widened, and she moved past Martigue to stand before the youth. Without warning, she reached up a hand and brushed it down his cheek, pushing his golden hair out of the way in the same motion.

"Why, Andre," she said, looking over her shoulder at her friend. "It seems you brought me a gift." Her gaze returned to Edward and roved every inch of him unabashedly.

"And what a lovely one it is," she added breathlessly, brushing his cheek again. Edward recoiled from her touch as if it burned him, and he shuddered in revulsion from the hungry, predatory gaze in the woman's eyes. She could well be his mother. Capricia, meanwhile, only smiled and made as if to move closer.

"Now, Capricia," Martigue said in a joking tone, stepping in between the two. "Behave yourself. He is a young and impressionable child."

Capricia pouted, but gave in.

"Oh, alright."

"Thank you, mademoiselle."

"You never let me have any fun anymore."

She looked over the man's shoulder at Edward again, and her gaze promised him a thousand unwanted promises. He shuddered again, and—against his own will—found himself extremely grateful towards Martigue. But only for a moment, as he found himself forced, once again, into a limousine.

Two Nazis sat on either side of him, guns drawn and positioned his direction in case he made any sudden moves. Across the way sat Martigue and his lady friend, whose eyes never left Edward. He got the distinct impression that she was undressing him as she sat there, and he didn't like that one bit. He frowned at her and looked down at his hands resting in his lap. He felt very tired at that moment, and his headache was growing worse.

"Oh, come now," he heard Martigue call as the car started into motion. "Don't look so dour. We're in Venice, my friend!"

"Yes," Capricia put in, practically purring. "The city of romance."

"You should try to relax," Martigue continued. Edward finally snapped, unable to take this charade of friendship.

"You'll have to excuse me," he spat venomously. "It's a little hard to be _cheerful_ when you're the one being _kidnapped_."

"Oh, my," Capricia interjected in mock dismay. "Such a temper you have."

"We've been trying to work on that with him, but nothing seems to be working," Martigue chimed in lightly, as if he were unaffected by Edward's tone. He turned back to Edward.

"If you'd just cooperate, monsieur—"

"Go to hell."

The sheer fury in the young chemist's tone gave the man pause.

"I think that you might want to ware your words, my young friend."

"Who gives a damn what you think?"

"Monsieur—"

"You know what I think? I think that you should damn well let me go."

"And we shall, monsieur…once you give us the information we want."

"Like hell you will. You might as well kill me now, you know, because I'm not going to tell you a damn thing."

"What a foul mouth you have," Capricia piped in. "Such a bad attitude isn't good for your health."

Edward sighed in frustration and leaned back in his seat, glowering silently.

They passed the rest of the half hour trip in silence. Once the driver pulled the car up to the front steps of the riverside villa, he got out and opened the door. Edward followed the orders of the two Nazis and climbed out, and then followed as Martigue and Capricia led the way up the limestone steps into the reddish-orange brick building.

"Signore Martigue," a middle aged matronly woman said with a low bow, meeting them in the hallway. "I am glad to see that you have returned. When Signorina Vitorioni said you were on your way, the staff was delighted."

"As I am delighted to have returned, Madame Giuseppe."

"Shall I show your guest to his chambers, signore?"

"If you would be so kind."

Without a word, the woman started off, and Edward, having no other choice, followed, his escorts trailing along at his elbows. They climbed the large marble staircase and turned right, climbing up those flights to enter the western wing of the villa. They stopped before two large white doors covered in bas reliefs of vines and grapes. The woman pulled a key from a pocket on her black dress and unlocked the doors, pushing them open. They swung wide without so much as a whisper. She then bustled over to the large bay window and pulled on a rope cord nearby, bathing the whole room in bright sunlight as the red velvet curtains slid apart.

"I do hope you'll find your stay most comfortable, signore," she said. "And if you need anything, do not hesitate to ask one of the staff."

"Thank you," he said, simply because he didn't know what else to say. She hadn't given him any reason to really hate her yet. She was only doing her job. With a bow, she left. Immediately upon her departure, the two Nazis who had been following Edward left the room, closing the doors behind them.

Edward took a moment to familiarize himself to his surroundings. The room he stood was a fair sized room large enough to hold ninety people in comfortably. To his far left was the window. Directly in front of the window were two red velvet chairs with a small wooden table between them, an ornate, porcelain lamp resting atop the table. On the wall to the right of the windows were two doorways sitting widely apart with a couch against the wall in between them. The back to another couch faced Edward while the front of it sat facing the wall, opposite the first couch. To Edward's right was a small square table with two chairs on either side. The floor of the room was covered in a plush red carpet that was only the slightest of shades lighter than the curtains. Edward moved away from the doors behind him, heading for the right hand door. He opened it, revealing a bathroom that could easily hold fifty people. The large tub was immediately across the room from the door, and beside the tub was a large mirror with a sink before it. The floor tiles and the top of the sink were made of white marble, while the rim of the bathtub and the toilet to the immediate left were made of white porcelain. Edward moved beside the tub and blinked in amazement. He could easily have fit three Major Armstrongs into that tub. Shaking his head, he left the bathroom, crossing between the couches and opening the other door. This room was a bit smaller than the others, holding only the large, four poster canopy bed with red velvet (Edward was beginning to notice a theme) curtains on its three open sides while the headboard rested against the wall. Across the room from him on the other side of the bed was a set of closet doors and a dresser. Across from the foot of the bed was another large window. Edward jolted in surprise when he suddenly realized that there was a young woman standing before the dresser, putting his neatly folded laundry into the drawers.

She turned to face him when she noticed someone had entered the room, and she held his dress shirts in her arms. She was dressed in maid's attire, complete with the white frilly cap and apron, and her brown eyes blinked at him in surprise. Her brown hair was cut in a slight bob that framed her delicate face.

"Oh!" she said, and she turned a slight shade of pink. Edward figured she was just startled to see someone else, and perhaps had been told that she shouldn't be in the room when he arrived. What he didn't realize was that she had received those exact orders, but had been attracted by the slight vanillin scent in the clothes and thus had lingered, imagining their owner. She just hadn't expected that person to be so cute!!

"Hello," Edward greeted after a few awkward moments of silence. She bowed slightly to him, carefully holding the clothes in a position where they would not wrinkle.

"Hello," she said with a slight Italian accent. Another awkward pause slipped between them.

"I'm Edward," Ed tried again. He was feeling slightly uncomfortable at the sight of someone else handling his clothing. For a moment, the girl said nothing, but then she turned a slightly darker shade of pink when she realized she was staring.

"I'm Maria," she replied, dropping her eyes. It dawned on her a moment later that she was still holding the shirts.

"Oh!!" she exclaimed, and she quickly placed them in the drawer, smoothing them out before shutting it. "I'm so sorry!" she said. "I'm normally not like this."

"It's okay," Edward replied, smiling encouragingly at her, figuring she had just started her job and was still nervous. If he only knew the real reason why her heart was now pounding so fast. Good grief, he had a great smile!

"Well…I…uh…I'd better get going!" she said, moving around the bed for the door. Her heart stopped as she passed close to him in order to get through the doorway.

"Thank you," he said, and when she turned to him in confusion, he gestured at the dresser.

"Oh! Right! You're very welcome!"

She smiled brightly at him and put her hands behind her back.

"If you need anything, please let me know!"

He smiled warmly at her.

"I will. Thanks."

Maria skipped out of the room, and moved past the Nazis. Once out of sight of those cold, silent men, she leaned against the wall and placed a hand over her heart, trying to slow it. She wondered in joyful terror if he'd heard it thumping against her ribs. Oh, why did she feel this way?? He was just a temporary visitor, after all, right? But such a handsome one!! _Be still my beating heart!_

Edward, meanwhile, was hanging his coat on the rack behind the main chamber doors, a shadow of his warm smile still ghosting on his lips. The girl…Maria, was it? She was sweet, and reminded him somehow of Elysia Hughes.

He moved across the room to one of the couches and slumped onto one, laying his head back with a deep, exhausted sigh. _How long this time?_

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Ahhhhhhh, yes. Some good, healthy doses of the Edo-angst! Can't have an FMA plotline without it, you know? And there goes another girl, becoming totally smitten with our totally oblivious hero. I think that Maria represents the fangirl in all of us…

Ed: (clueless) What are you babbling about now?

(looks at him a moment)…I swear, Ed…sometimes you have to be bludgeoned over the head with things before you understand.

Ed: (absolutely confused) Huh?

Nevermind…(walks away)

Ed: (looks at Al) What's HER problem?

Al: (shrugs)


	8. Chapter 8

I should probably let you all know…I HATE CAPRICIA!!! She's creepy and stalkerish!! But…sometimes a story needs to have a character like that…plus, its fun putting Ed in very awkward situations. But, RAWRG!! I despise that woman with ever fiber of my being!!!

…don't you find it a little strange that I would hate someone that_ **I **_created?

By the way, when she calls him "mio Tesoro", it's Italian for "my treasure". Did I mention that she's CREEPY???

Anyways…here are some helpings of Capricia's creepy stalkerish-ness!! Run, Ed!! Ruuuuun!!

**Chapter 8**

With the greasy ease of a snake on the prowl, Capricia entered Edward's room. Yes, she knew that she probably shouldn't be there, but she couldn't stay away. She was the kind of person who lived by her name. Impulsive. Ruled by whim. _Capricia_. Her green eyes scanned the room, finally locking on her prey. He was asleep, napping innocently on the couch against the wall across from where she stood. With a delighted grin, she slithered over, the satin of her tight-fitting dress swishing slightly with the sway of her hips. She moved up and leaned on the back of the couch opposite the one he occupied.

She seriously doubted at the moment that he even knew she was there. She studied the deep and even rhythm of the rise and fall of his chest and nodded in satisfaction. He'd be asleep for a while. That decided, she grew even bolder and moved around the couch, settling into the cushions there and placing her chin into the palm of her delicate hand. She started taking in the details, admiring what she was coming to think of as a work of art.

Yes, some god had obviously favored Edward Elric enough to take extreme care when designing him. He was lean and obviously well built without being too bulky and slender without being too skinny. The curve of his face cut a strong but smooth line along his jaw, making him appear stubborn and sweet all at the same time. He looked about two years younger than his actual age, but his eyes—when they were open—held the spirit of a man who had seen much more in his 18 year life than most men would ever see in 90. His hair, while long, did not make him appear too feminine. No, indeed, it only added to his charm. Capricia's hands twitched as she remembered how soft and smooth his hair had felt to her fingers. Some strands of the locks that framed his face had formed a sort of curtain along his smooth cheek, and she had a tough time resisting the urge to brush them back, and an even tougher time resisting the desire to pull out that godsforsaken tie in his hair and run her fingers through that golden mane!

The young Adonis stirred suddenly, coming to life. Capricia grinned wickedly. Wouldn't _he_ be surprised to find her! His golden eyes opened and blinked at her, confused for a moment. Suddenly, he shot straight up in his seat, his expression at once angry and bewildered.

"Good morning, _mio Tesoro,_" she greeted cheerily. "Did you have a good nap?"

"What do _you_ want?" he demanded. He was in no mood to play games with anyone, especially someone who'd been watching him sleep. Didn't these people know what privacy was??

"Oh, nothing really. Just wanted to see how you were getting along."

"I'm fine, thanks. And things will only improve if you leave."

Capricia pouted mockingly.

"Aw, don't be that way," she begged, languidly moving from her couch to his and crawling up close to him. "I'm sure we could learn to get along."

He scooted away from her uncomfortably, not really knowing where she was trying to take this encounter, but still wanting absolutely nothing to do with her. There was something—her eyes, maybe?—that only made him think of a hungry predator. Eyeing the pose of her body and the way she all but shoved her bosom into his face, he realized he was prey to the worst kind of predator ever to exist.

"Edward," she purred, her eyes hooded suggestively in what he guessed she thought was a 'come hither' look. He only glared at her, and tried to will her away with every fiber of his being. She crawled closer, placing a hand over him and onto the arm of the couch to prevent him from getting away. "_Mio Tesoro._"

He, of course, knew virtually no Italian, and therefore had no idea what she kept calling him. But, he knew one thing for certain: he did not appreciate the tone she was using. It sent chills down his spine—and not the good kind.

"Please leave me alone," he said coldly, crossing his arms and making no moves toward her. She only smirked at that and moved in closer, nuzzling against his face with hers and breathing in his clean, vanilla scent. Edward lost his cool when she started playing with the buttons on his vest and shoved her away, rising from the couch in anger.

"What the hell is your problem??" he demanded, clenching his fists. What right did she have to come in here and throw herself all over him?? She was easily twice his age, for crying out loud!!

She, meanwhile, continued to sit on the couch, looking for all the world like a cat who'd just eaten its fifth canary.

"What?" she asked, her lower lip protruding slightly in another mock pout. "Don't you like me?"

"No, I really don't!"

"Oh, come now," she told him, patting the couch. "Sit down. I'm sure we can become good friends if you just give it a shot."

"I don't _want_ to give _anything_ a shot! Now, please leave!!"

She frowned at that, this time for real.

"You know, I'm not accustomed to giving chase."

"Good, then let me make things easier on you! _I'm. Not. Interested._ There, that better? Now, you don't have to give chase!"

Capricia continued to sit there, frowning, until something like comprehension flitted through her green eyes.

"Ah…" she said as if she had all the answers. She tilted her head playfully to the right and smirked up at him. "I see…you're still _puro_. _Un vergine_, no?

Edward scowled and crossed his arms.

"I have no idea what you just said," he told her, and he wasn't lying. She just chuckled.

"You've never known a woman, have you?"

Before he could respond, she rose up from the couch and walked towards him. He backed away, until suddenly there was a wall behind him and he could go no further. She came up very close and pressed herself against him.

"Not to worry, _mio Tesoro._ I can always remedy that."

Before he could tell her that he didn't _need_ her to remedy _anything_, and what the blazes was she even _talking_ about, her red painted lips suddenly locked onto his in a passionate manner. Edward's eyes went wide and his face turned a brilliant scarlet color as everything suddenly fell into place. As the initial shock melted away, the anger surged back up and he shoved her back, breaking the kiss and wiping his mouth, trying to erase her feel. He certainly didn't want _her_ to remedy _that_! She just continued to smile in a very triumphant manner, as if she thought she'd won some grand prize.

"Not bad for your first kiss," she told him, and her tongue rolled around in her mouth as if she were trying to savor his taste. He saw her starting to move back in toward him and was bracing himself to reject her when the doors to the room opened and Maria walked in, her hands laden with a large tray.

She stared up at the two in shock for a moment.

"Oh! I'm sorry!!" she sputtered after a moment. "Am I interrupting something?"

"No," Edward put in before Capricia could speak. "Miss Vitorioni was just about to leave." His eyes held no compromise. She shrugged.

"I still got what I came for," she said with a wink, licking her lips appreciatively and pinching his left cheek slightly. He pushed her hand away, and she sauntered away triumphantly, staring hard at Maria in a very unforgiving way as she passed before vanishing into the hallway. The girl stood still for a moment, looking as shaken as Edward was feeling. He had an uncomfortable feeling squirming around in the pit of his stomach, and he expressed this openly with a deep shudder that spread from the very marrow in his bones.

"I'm sorry," Maria said quietly, placing the tray on the table to her right.

"No, don't be," he told her. "I'm glad you came in when you did. I think things were about to get worse."

"No…I mean…I'm sorry…about her."

He looked at her in surprise.

"Why should you be sorry about what she did? That's not your fault."

"I should have warned you."

She looked up at him, sorrow in her brown eyes.

"She won't back down, you know. She'll keep coming until she gets what she wants. That's the kind of person she is."

Edward smiled kindly at the girl.

"Don't worry about me. I'm good at keeping people from getting what they want."

"You don't understand!!"

Maria's body was pulled taut, trying with all her might to express her immediate dismay.

"She won't give up! The more you fight her, the more she'll want it!!"

Her eyes dropped to the ground and she clasped her hands together, pressing them to her heart.

"She'll take it by force if she has to."

Edward stood looking at her a moment, not sure what to say. Finally, he rubbed the back of his head and smiled experimentally.

"I appreciate your concern, but really, don't worry about me. I'm a lot smarter than I look."

Maria looked at him, a little hope in her eyes.

"And she can try all she wants, but I'm probably a lot better at keeping it than she is at taking it."

Edward blushed mightily as the awkwardness of the conversation started to set in and he scratched the back of his neck like he always did when he was uncomfortable.

"No offense…but, can we stop talking about this?"

Maria turned slightly pink and nodded mutely. He took a moment to really study her.

"Maria, can I ask you something?"

"Yes, sir."

"Why is a nice girl like you working for these guys?"

She blinked up at him in surprise for a moment, and her expression grew sad.

"I don't have a choice," she told him. His eyes softened.

"Why?"

She sighed.

"My family lives on Signorina Vitorioni's land. My parents pay her money every month in order to stay there."

Her eyes welled suddenly.

"My papa got very sick and couldn't go to work. Mama doesn't have any skills to get a job. We couldn't afford to pay. In an effort to save our house, my papa offered to have me work for Signorina. I've worked long enough to pay for the next five months, but…"

She had to stop.

"You're a prisoner as much as I am," Edward finished for her. She nodded.

"I just want to make sure my little sisters can go to school," she told him.

Little siblings. Edward could understand that.

Maria lifted a silver lid off the tray.

"Your dinner will get cold if you don't eat it, sir."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The eleven o'clock hour found Edward curled in one of the red velvet chairs, one of the five books he owned open on his lap. When the grandfather clock above the couch chimed, he was surprised at how late it was and had to do a double take to make sure. With a sigh, he shut the book, leaving it on the table under the lamp, and he walked into his bedroom, turning on the overhead light. He smiled with a sigh as he found his bedclothes already spread neatly across the bed. So, that's what Maria had been up to. He gathered up the clothes and made his way into the bathroom. Again, she'd laid out the bath towel and washcloth for him on the sink within reach of the tub.

Setting the clothes down on the sink as far away from the tub as possible, Edward turned on the water. The shower head sputtered for a moment before coming to life, and he closed the curtain so that the water wouldn't spill all over the floor. While he was waiting for it to reach the appropriate temperature, he undressed, setting the clothes on the sink, and reached back with practiced ease to pull out the tie in his hair. That done, he grabbed the washcloth and soap and stepped into the water. He got straight to business, cleaning himself quickly and thoroughly. He paused for a moment when his eyes came across the scar extending across his chest from under his automail. He idly traced it with the fingers of his left hand, feeling the knotted, uneven skin. His eyes then made their way down the length of his metal arm.

He clenched his fist thoughtfully. His newest arm and leg were some of the best pieces of equipment he'd ever had. They were both lightweight enough that he could tread water without danger of sinking or drowning. Plus, they were rust resistant and watertight, meaning that water wouldn't seep into the gears and rust them, making the arm immobile. They seemed to have a cooling mechanism that could keep them from overheating in a desert and a heating mechanism that could keep the ports from getting frostbite in cold climates. Really, they were the best she'd ever made for him.

Edward sighed suddenly and there was an ache in his chest that he couldn't explain. He pressed his forehead against the tile wall, feeling the water run down his back. He studied the arm a bit longer. He made sure to take extra care of it, oiling the joints on a regular basis and making sure that water wasn't getting into it. She wasn't around to repair it, after all, and even though he knew that his father had made a bunch of spares for him, they weren't the same. They weren't automail.

They weren't made by _her_.

Ruining this arm meant cutting off the one thing that tied him to her, and he didn't want that. As painful as it was to remember, he never wanted to forget. Edward was the kind who just couldn't let go of things. He was _still_ carrying the watch with him to this day, even though that promise was over and done with. Something just wouldn't let him put things to rest. Or, maybe he just didn't _want_ to let go of things.

Suddenly, inexplicably, he felt very, very tired. He gave a deep, profound sigh, a sigh that came from the soul of someone who'd seen and experienced too much all at once.

He wondered if she'd found someone else yet. Part of him—the darkly jealous, selfish corner in the farthest part of his heart—hoped that she'd never be able to move on. At the same time, realistically, he didn't want that. He wanted nothing more than for her to be happy. She deserved that, after everything he'd put her through. The ache returned to his chest again, and he placed his left hand over his heart, trying to will it away. He knew that even if she was happy and had come to love someone else…he never would. He just couldn't find it within himself to do it. He tried now and again, but it just wasn't the same.

He'd actually run into this world's version of her a while back. He'd actually stopped to talk to her a few minutes. He had always known that sooner or later it had been bound to happen, but it hurt more than he cared to admit. The face and the name were the same…but the person wasn't. The memories weren't there. The understanding wasn't there. It wasn't _her_. Realistically, he'd known that in the back of his mind, but he couldn't stop himself from hoping, wishing that somehow, someway, it could be so. After a few moments, he hadn't been able to stay any longer, and had all but run away from her.

Edward suddenly found himself having trouble swallowing past the lump forming in his throat. He threw his head back, closing his eyes as the water ran over his face.

A few moments later, he turned off the water and stepped out into the room, grabbing the towel and drying off. He realized dimly that his discarded clothing was gone as he pulled on his bedclothes with a tired slowness that betrayed his inner emotions. Sighing again, he headed out of the bathroom, moving past the two couches and going into the bedroom. He noted that the blankets were already rolled back, and he slid under them, flopping face first into the pillow. He felt the sting in his eyes returning and buried his face further, trying to fight the feeling, refusing to admit the moment of weakness when the water from the shower head hadn't been the only water going down the drain.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

And that, my friends, concludes the Angsty Shower Scene.

Ed: (bluuuuuush) Oh my God!! Not only did you make a woman twice my age make out with me… (bluuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuush) YOU WROTE A NUDIE SCENE ABOUT ME!!!

…so?

Ed: (wigs out) There are probably a bunch of girls reading this!!!!

….and this is my problem…_how_?

Ed: (major wig out in progress) THIS VIOLATES MY RIGHTS AS THE MAIN CHARACTER!!!

Which one? The fact that a woman old enough to be your mother made out with you, or the fact that you were naked for an extended period of time?

Ed: (bluuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuush) BOTH!!!

Ed….Ed….Ed…you do remember that Arakawa-san drew a mostly nudie scene of you in the manga, right?

Ed: Oo WHAT????

(hands over the manga)

Ed: (looks through it) Oo Gwah!!! You're right!!! (BLUUUUUUUUUUUUUSH)

I rest my case.

Ed: Oo (some major blushing going on here people) I must destroy all the copies of this…


	9. Chapter 9

Ok, so I've been guesstimating how long it takes to fly from place to place. If my geography and travel time haven't and still don't seem accurate…don't sue me. I'm a poor college student and you won't get much out of me anyway, so it's really not worth it. However, if someone would be willing to tell me how long it takes to get from place to place, or can tell me where to find this information quickly, I would worship the ground you walk on for the rest of my life. I've tried Google searches, but they only produce ticket ordering businesses that won't tell you the information unless you buy the tickets. (pout) And I've also tried Google Earth, but that will only show me travel routes that are within the United States, and this story is quite obviously NOT in the United States, ergo…I can only make up what I think is reasonable.

I am also very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very _very_ sorry that it took me so looooooooooooooong to update this story! Please enjoy this long awaited chapter!

**Chapter 9**

"I hate planes."

"…why?"

"Because, if you think about it, they're like big, steel coffins floating in the air and at any moment, they could drop out of the sky and kill us all."

"…Dad?"

"Yes, Alphonse?"

"Please don't talk anymore."

"…Sorry."

With a sigh, Alphonse sank back into his seat beside the window. He and his father were flying first class on a passenger airplane—courtesy of the stolen money—en route for Venice. They had been in the air for about two hours now and had one more hour left before landing. Alphonse was beginning to realize that his father had a morbid sense of humor, as this last conversation had shown. It was only one of many discussions they'd had, for Hohenheim was beginning to get bored, and so he thought predicting their impending demise was a grand way to spend the time. Alphonse, who was still nervous about the idea of machines flying through the sky (if it wasn't alchemy holding the thing up, was it really that reliable?), didn't find it that terribly amusing and thusly did not appreciate the gesture. But, he supposed that such thoughts were only natural for a 1000 year old consciousness that had cheated death for so long. One had to be aware of all forms of destruction if one wanted to continue to survive.

In the seat beside him, Hohenheim was silently chiding himself for his behavior. He was really bad at this father thing, wasn't he? He looked over at Alphonse, who didn't notice, so busy was his looking out the window. _My God…he looks like Trisha_, he thought. _Sure, he's got more of my coloring…but there's a lot more of her in him than me. It's probably better that way. _He smiled softly. _He's got her spirit, too. She was far more kind than she should have been with me, far too tolerant. _He paused to ponder that a moment. Trisha had indeed been tolerant of him, had had to be, because he had made it so that there could not be any other way. And leaving her alone with two children in her condition…he could well understand his oldest son's anger. He sighed. _I was really bad at the husband thing, too, wasn't I?_ _Oh, Trisha…if there had been any other way…_ He looked back at Alphonse. Yes, he'd opened his heart up to his father, and for some reason that was unfathomable to Hohenheim, he'd never hated him for all those lost years. Alphonse had been willing to give him the chance to get to know him, wanting also to build up a relationship with his father. He had no one else, except Edward. _Edward…_ Hohenheim smiled ruefully. How much of himself he saw in his eldest son. The same passion was there, the same drive. True, Hohenheim's inner fire had dwindled over the last thousands of years, but Edward's fire was burning brighter than ever. Hohenheim doubted that Edward would ever forgive him for all of those lost years…and why should he? Hohenheim had no right to ask that of him. After all, he'd done nothing to make it otherwise; hadn't even tried. He heaved a deep sigh.

"Dad?"

Hohenheim was startled from his reverie by Alphonse's soft tone.

"Yes?"

"Do you…do you think Brother's okay?"

He could see the deep concern in the boy's trembling brown eyes. Hohenheim smiled encouragingly.

"Of course he is. Ed might have a short fuse, but he's smart when he needs to be."

Alphonse didn't look convinced. He knew his brother's temper better than anyone.

"Besides…they need him alive, remember? He's the only person who knows where to find the..."

He stopped and looked around at that other passengers in the plane. None of them appeared suspicious, but he knew better than anyone that looks could be deceiving.

"The you-know-what," he finished helplessly, a tiny bit embarrassed at having to resort to such a childish way of referring to the uranium bomb, but they had to be careful. They didn't know who could be listening in at any moment. It was just better to not to take chances. He turned his attention back to Alphonse.

"I promise that Ed is okay. They still need him."

"But…what if he doesn't tell them what they want to know and they hurt him??" the boy insisted, his fears coming to light. "What if they're holding him in a cold cell with dirt floors and no windows, and he's lying there, bleeding and cold and hungry and—!!"

"Alphonse! Don't let your imagination run away with you!!"

Hohenheim gripped the youngest Elric's shoulder tightly.

"Come on, Al. Ed isn't some poor abused animal. He's smart, and I can guarantee that he's a lot smarter than his captors. He can take care of himself until we get there, okay?"

Alphonse still didn't seem certain, but he tightened his lips up determinedly and nodded. He turned back to the window.

Hohenheim stared directly out before him, eyes not really seeing the back of the seat in front of him.

_Don't make me a liar, Ed_, he thought.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"I hate planes."

"Why is that?"

"They're so small…I hate small places."

"…bad experience as a child?"

"…maybe."

"What happened?"

"…a cousin of mine dared me to climb into an old hope chest that belonged to our grandmother. I was stupid enough to do it. He locked the lid and left and it wasn't until five hours later that someone finally heard me pounding and screaming and opened it up."

"That's too bad."

"Yeah."

"…how'd you get over that?"

"...I beat the crap out of my cousin. It made me feel much better."

"…I was an only child growing up, so I never had any experiences like that."

"No cousins?"

"Nope. Our family wasn't very close."

"Oh…sorry to hear that."

"Don't be. My aunt's crazy, and my uncle's a drunkard."

"…oh…"

With a sigh, Havoc leaned back in his seat beside the window. He, Mustang, Fuery, and Breda, plus a handful of officers were all on a private jet—courtesy of the U.S. Government—en route to Venice. It was he who found flying a bit disconcerting, as he had revealed to Mustang. They had about one more hour left in their trip, and Havoc simply couldn't wait to touch solid ground again. Just what was it that was holding the plane up anyhow?

Across the way from the blonde sat Mustang, mulling over a file folder in his lap. So, he thought to himself, obviously the Nazis were after Edward Elric's research on uranium. But why? What was it in the research that they really wanted? What did Elric know about uranium that they didn't already know themselves? There was a particular note of interest to Mustang, about uranium-235:

_U-235 is better for making nuclear weapons and for using in nuclear reactors._

Of course, Mustang didn't totally understand a lot of the technical terminology in most of the notes (some 18 year old kid wrote this?), but this seemed pretty straight forward, and something about that fact made Mustang's blood run cold. He didn't figure that the Nazis were too interested in nuclear reactors alone. Yet, what was striking him so odd about this whole situation was that Martigue and his goonies could have easily gotten that information out of any book in the Berlin Library, just as Elric had. So why take Elric captive? What did he know?

"Hey, Roy?" said Havoc, breaking him from his thoughts.

"Yes, Havoc?"

"You think we'll find him first?"

"As opposed to who?"

"Agent Hawkeye and her gaggle of spooks."

Mustang smirked without looking up.

"Now, Havoc…you know that we are working _with_ the CIA, not against them."

Havoc snorted.

"Oh, come on, Roy...you can't fool me. You hate having to share the glory with anyone."

"That's not true."

Havoc gave him his 'I don't believe you' look.

"Well…it's not true most of the time."

Havoc only grinned at the over-ambitious antics of his boss.

A long pause stretched between them for a moment.

"You think he's okay?"

"Who?"

"The kid. Elric."

"…if he's survived this long in captivity, I think he'll be okay. Besides, it's obvious to me that the Nazis still need him alive. They won't be killing him anytime soon."

"What if they torture him?"

There was some hesitation in Roy before he shrugged his shoulders.

"We'll have to assume that they won't. This Martigue character seems to have a strange sense of honor and doesn't sound like the type to hurt a kid."

Havoc looked out the window to the scenery below.

"I hope you're right," was all he could say.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

A phone was ringing nearby.

The man groaned and stirred, trying to ignore it. Not now! Not on his day off!

As if to spite him, the phone continued to ring. Why did they have a phone anyway? The man grunted unhappily and reached out a lazy hand, pulling the cleverly concealed device of sadistic torture off its cradle.

"Hello?" he asked, his sleepy voice carrying the heavy native accent from Iskenderun. "Oh…hello…yes, I was asleep. I work very late!! What do you want??"

He paused and sat bolt upright in bed, his brown eyes wide in shock.

"He's been what??? Since when?? …why did you not call me sooner??? Do you know where…he's here in Venice??? That's not good. That's not good at all. Who are his captors? …_the Nazis_???? My friend, you should have called me sooner!! …yes, yes. I will come to you. Where shall we meet? …okay. I will see you in fifteen minutes."

He hung up the phone, adrenaline already surging through his veins. Another adventure, eh? These foreigners had certainly made his life more interesting since he'd met them! He climbed out of bed and dressed quickly, rushing out into the rest of the house.

His wife looked up at him in surprise as he bounced out on one foot, trying to pull on his shoes. She was a beautiful, shapely woman, with long, luxurious waves of black hair.

"Eliazaar?" she asked. (A.N.—pronounced "El-ee-ay-zar") She spoke in their native tongue of Turkish. "What is wrong?"

"I must go. A friend is in trouble."

She looked concerned.

"Who?"

The man looked pained and took his wife's hands into his, getting down on one knee before her.

"I wish that I could tell you…but the situation is too dangerous, and I do not dare get you involved."

Her eyes lit up in immediate recognition.

"I'm guessing it's your young friend from America…the one with hair gold like the sun?"

Her husband said nothing, only stared at the floor, feeling terribly ashamed. He'd promised to never keep things from her when they had married, but this was for her own safety.

"I'm guessing you can't tell me for specific reasons."

He nodded solemnly, and she sighed.

"Lani, if I could…" he started, but she placed a hand against his mouth.

"Come back to me safely," was all that she said with a confident smile. She trusted him, because she knew he was a good man. That was why she had married him, after all. He smiled at her and nodded.

"I will."

He kissed her softly, and then he moved out of the room, grabbing his coat and car keys and heading out towards a new journey.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Alphonse bounced on the balls of his feet impatiently, searching the faces in the crowd. Where was he? Shouldn't he have been here by now?

"Alphonse…relax," called Hohenheim from his position on the edge of the fountain. "It's only been ten minutes."

"But, shouldn't he have been here by now? I mean…he said fifteen minutes, and he knows how much we need him, so why isn't he—?"

"He'll be here. Relax."

Alphonse didn't say anything, just stuck his hands in the pockets of his pants and leaned back on his heels, trying to look nonchalant and at ease. He failed miserably.

"Alphonse, really. It's only been ten minutes. Oh, wait, I'm sorry…eleven minutes."

"I know, but…"

Before he could speak further, he spotted who he was looking for and waved his arms over his head.

"Eliazaar!!" he called over the heads of the Italians. The Turkish man heard him and waved. In less than a minute, he managed to weave his way through the crowd to stand beside the boy.

"Alphonse Elric," Eliazaar greeted, clasping Alphonse's hand firmly.

"How have you been?" Alphonse asked.

"I have been well. And you?"

"I've been better."

It had taken Alphonse quite a while get used to Eliazaar at first, because—though Eliazaar certainly didn't know it—he looked exactly like a dark haired, brown eyed version of Scar, the State Alchemist Killer from the old world, minus the trademark scar, of course. An even more bizarre fact, Alphonse remembered, was that Eliazaar's wife, Lani, looked exactly like a dark skinned and brown eyed version of the homunculus Lust. Alphonse and his brother had met Eliazaar and Lani after hitching a ride on their truck from Munich to Berlin, and after talking with them over the days of travel, they'd formed a fast friendship with the couple. Edward had often kept in contact with Eliazaar even after the brothers had moved to the U.S.

"It does me good to see you," Eliazaar said, bringing Alphonse's attention back to the present. Alphonse smiled.

"Now, tell me, my friend," the man continued. "What has happened with Edward? Why do the Nazis have him?"

Alphonse's face grew serious as he recalled the events of the last few days.

"Eliazaar, do you know about my brother's research?"

"Very little, I am afraid. All he told me when I last saw him was that he was heading to Berlin to study the background on an object, and he asked me if I would be willing to watch an old suitcase of his. He told me that there was something very important inside of it, but when I pressed him about it, he told me that it was better that I not know."

Alphonse's heart skipped a beat.

"Eliazaar, it's very important that we find that suitcase. Do you know where it is?"

Eliazaar seemed to be surprised by Alphonse's eagerness.

"Yes, I do. It's in Iskenderun. My younger brother Haadji is watching it."

Alphonse almost face-faulted. He'd left Haadji in charge of it?? That spelled trouble for all of them.

"Alphonse, my friend, tell me…what is going on? What's in that suitcase?"

Alphonse's face grew expressionless.

"I'm sorry, Eliazaar…but it's really better that you just don't know."

Eliazaar sighed.

"Just like your brother…" he muttered, crossing his arms. He sighed. "Alright, let's go and find young Edward, shall we?"


	10. Chapter 10

All Capricia-bashing is welcome!!

This may have won over chapter 4 as the most fun chapter to write!! Hopefully you all will enjoy reading it just as much as I enjoyed thinking it up and actually writing it!!

**Chapter 10**

Signora Katarina Giuseppe had loyally worked for Andre de Martigue for years with the diligence and patience of a veteran housekeeper. She was in charge of making sure that everything, absolutely everything was taken care of while Signore Martigue was away. She was always on top of things, flawlessly dealing with every crisis that arose and making absolutely certain that everything went smoothly at all parties and events that either Signore Martigue or Signorina Vitorioni threw. She had everything running perfectly so that the food was always out and ready, and that it was never running low so that everyone could take as much as they desired. She made sure that the drinks were always stocked and accounted for, and that everyone who wanted a glass could have one, or so that they could even have more than one if they so wanted. She made sure that the cleaning staff was always at work, and that the entire villa was immaculately clear of any particle of dust that could threat the integrity of her reputation. She always had the gardeners tending to the garden, keeping the grounds free of weeds and other assorted pests. Most importantly perhaps, she made sure that the fifteen guest rooms were always kept tidy, ready for immediate use. Everything in them was always in order without a second glance. Signora Giuseppe made certain of that, and the guests were always grateful.

Nothing, however, not all of her years of service, nor any of her prior training had ever prepared her for the maelstrom that was Signore Martigue's newest guest. Now, she had never actually experienced his rage first hand, but watching what the various soldiers who moved in and out of his rooms had to go through, she knew that she never wanted to be on the receiving end of that temper. More than once she had happened by the doors to see some unfortunate German come backpedaling out into the hallway, ducking out of range of a vase that narrowly missed his head. Of course, Signora Giuseppe always inwardly winced at the sight of such a valuable object being so carelessly shattered, but she would just sigh and order Maria to get the dustpan and broom. On other occasions, she had walked past the door and had caught an earful of the young man's shouting, and his language made her gape in dismay. Whenever she dealt with him herself, he was curtly polite to her, showing some signs of good upbringing, but she knew that whenever one of Signore Martigue's men had to brave the odds and enter the room, the young man was like a wild animal in a cage, tearing about the room in an unbridled fury, spitting out a venomous stream of ire from a surprisingly foul mouth.

And so, when the occasion finally arose and Signora Giuseppe found herself being the bearer of bad news—she was to go and tell the young man that Signore Martigue wished to see him, and that name alone could send him into _such_ a _fit_—she could only gulp in fear. She stared past the staircase at those deceptively innocuous doors for a long, long moment, and then took a deep breath, gathering up her skirts and her courage, and moved up the stairs with the determined stride of a warrior heading for what might be his last battlefield. When she finally reached the top landing, she had to pause and catch her breath. She was getting on in her years, and the steps always seemed to get longer every time she climbed them. When all of her wind was finally back, she moved over to the doors and knocked on the right hand door; three sharp, polite raps.

"Signore," she called through the door. "I am coming in."

She didn't hear a response, but she screwed up her courage anyway and moved forward, twisting the handle and swinging the door wide. She looked around the room, frowning slightly as she realized the young man was nowhere in sight.

"Signore?" she called. He wasn't in the bathroom; the door to that room was wide open and everything in plain view. She moved over to the bedroom and knocked on the door.

"Signore?" she asked. "Are you awake?"

No answer. Thinking he was just asleep, she grabbed the handle and moved inside the room, freezing in shock as she beheld the sight on the other side.

The young man was nowhere to be found, but he left an obvious trail in his wake. Tied tightly to the back left post of the four poster bed was a bed sheet that extended across the room to the window where it was knotted to another bed sheet. The makeshift rope extended out the window, and it shivered slightly, pulled taut by some unseen weight. She could very well guess what the source of that weight was.

"_Caro Dio_!!" Signora Giuseppe exclaimed, springing over to the window and sticking her head out. She looked straight down and was not terribly surprised to find Signore Martigue's young guest dangling on the lower end of the bed sheet rope, expertly rappelling down the side of the villa wall.

"Signore!!" she shouted down to him, catching his attention. He froze and looked up at her, his shockingly golden eyes wide with astonishment.

"Signore!! Stop!!" she continued, trying to dissuade him from his current course of action. What was he doing? Didn't he know that he could get hurt doing that? And what kind of person randomly climbed out of windows with bed sheets?

"Crap!" she dimly heard him exclaim, and he doubled his efforts to slide down the building, moving more rapidly. Signora Giuseppe waved her arms frantically, at a loss, until she turned back to the front doors of the room and shouted for the guards. Instantly, the two Germans ran in through the doors and came to her side. They took one look at the makeshift rope and didn't need an explanation, one dashing out of the room and the other leaning far out the window and grabbing the top of the bed sheets, trying to pull the young man back up. The young man was not to be deterred, it seemed, because he put his feet to the wall and, releasing the cotton cord, he pushed out and back flipped out into the air, dropping the last seven feet in a graceful, breathtaking arc. He somersaulted a few steps to play out his momentum and lessen the impact before rising to his feet and taking off in a dead run towards the courtyard.

"Damn!" the German soldier at Signora Giuseppe's side exclaimed, and he turned and hightailed it out of the room just as the woman saw about fifteen soldiers go racing across the lawn in pursuit of the young man.

"What is going on?" she wondered under her breath, and she hurried out of the room to the rail across the landing from the doors, leaning over it and catching sight of Signorina Vitorioni coming out to meet the soldier who had last left the room.

"What's going on?" she demanded, in a tone that was quite clearly displeased.

"Elric has escaped."

"What?? How??"

"Out the window. He's probably heading for the walls on the far side, hoping to lose the men in the courtyard."

Signorina Vitorioni gestured wildly to someone beyond Signora Giuseppe's view.

"Go after him!! Now!!"

Ten more soldiers ran out of the villa's front doors, eager to obey her commands. Up above, Maria joined Signora Giuseppe at the rail.

"What's going on?" she whispered softly so as not to be heard.

"Signore Martigue's young guest has escaped," Signora Giuseppe replied, not entirely sure what that really meant. Why would a guest escape? Perhaps the young man was mad. That would certainly explain his irrational behavior. Maria, however, seemed to understand the deeper meaning to Signora Giuseppe's words and clenched one of her fists in victory.

_Run fast, Edward_, she thought to herself.

"Maria?" Signora Giuseppe asked. "What in the world is going on?"

"I'll explain later," Maria promised, grabbing the older woman's hand. "Let's get away from here."

She led the old woman down the hall away from the main stairwell, heading for the servants' stairs.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Hearing the commotion outside the window of his study, Martigue rose from his chair, placing the book he had been reading down on the chair behind him. He moved out into the main foyer of the villa, coming up beside Capricia.

"What's going on?"

Capricia turned to him in surprise.

"Andre! I didn't expect that you would come out of your study this time of day!"

Martigue eyed the woman, his keen amber eyes detecting her nervousness.

"Capricia…" he said warningly, reminding her that he did not enjoy playing games. She gave in.

"It would seem that young Edward has escaped."

To the woman's surprise, Martigue did not get angry. He did quite the opposite in fact; he grinned boyishly.

"Oh, he did, did he?" he asked, and he sounded rather excited by the prospect. "Did he use the old bed-sheet-out-the-window routine?"

Capricia balked at the man's lack of concern.

"Andre!" she cried incredulously. "If he gets away, your entire plan is shot!"

"Oh, I know, but I'm not worried. He won't get far."

She eyed the Frenchman warily.

"You sound as if you expected him to try this."

"Actually, my dear, I will say that I am a bit surprised. I was wondering how long it would be until he tried to escape, and I was sure it would have been sooner. It's a good thing I didn't wager money on that."

"Andre…everything is at stake here! If that boy is successful—!"

She broke off her sentence when one of the Nazi soldiers came back in through the front door.

"It's alright," he proclaimed proudly. "Everything is under control."

Another Nazi—a rather large man who had clearly been experimenting with the new body building drugs—entered in behind him, one very irate Edward Elric tucked tightly under one arm. The young man kicked, squirmed, and twisted his body, pounding his fists into the man's lower back and yelling a string of obscenities so foul that it would make even a drunken Scotsman blush. However, caught as he was at an extremely awkward angle—tucked against the man's hip with an iron grip fastened around his waist—his efforts were in vain and the blows he managed to land had little to no effect on the large man.

"Ah," Martigue said, stepping forward and smirking. "Good work as always, Franz."

The large Nazi merely grunted in acknowledgement and took a second to readjust his grip.

"Mien heir," he said, his voice deep and booming, his German accent smothering his words like molasses, "It would probably be best if I took him upstairs. He's itching for a fight right now, and when his feet are on the ground, he fights better than a wounded tiger in a corner."

"When his feet are on the ground?" Capricia interjected, raising an eyebrow at the curious phrase.

"Yes, frauline," the man replied, nonplussed by the interruption. "As long as his feet aren't on the ground, he can't seem to put up much of a fight." He gestured towards the struggling bundle of temper and swearing under his arm. "It's just a lot of ineffectual squirming and yelling. However, I think its best that we take him upstairs and let him cool off before you have to deal with him."

"I agree, Franz," Martigue said. "Go ahead and take him upstairs, and you four can accompany Franz."

The four men saluted and they followed Franz up the stairs, staying at a distance so as not to get within range of the incensed blonde's fists. Edward, meanwhile, continued to spit out a steady stream of furious cursing and protests, trying to grab the railing on the stairwell in a vain attempt to stop his captor's momentum, but he could never quite get a good grip and Franz was simply too strong to stop. Martigue, meanwhile, turned to four other soldiers.

"Why don't you four get together a team and board up the windows to Monsieur Elric's room, hm?"

The four men saluted and headed away, grabbing six other men on their way and finding the necessary tools to carry out the work.

Martigue turned to Capricia.

"And you were worried," he said in a tone that was clearly mocking. Capricia glared.

"You should have told me you had a back up plan."

"Capricia…dear, sweet, beautiful Capricia…this is why _I_ am the one in charge and you are not."

He walked away, never noticing the daggers Capricia's brilliant green eyes were throwing into his back.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Edward pounded furiously on the bathroom door, his dangerously boiling rage overflowing.

"Let me out of here, you bastards!!!" he shouted, pulling on the handle with all his strength. He was simply far outmatched by the ridiculously strong Franz who held the doorknob on the other side, keeping the door firmly shut without any trouble. Edward resumed to pounding uselessly on the door.

"You can't keep me in here, dammit!!! Let me out!!!"

"Not until you calm down, mien heir," Franz replied, seemingly at ease with the entire situation.

"I will _not_ calm down, dammit!!! Let me _the hell_ out of here!!"

"If you will not calm down, mien heir, I will have no choice but to keep you in there until you do."

"_Bastard!!!_ _Let me out of here right now, or you will be in for a world of hurt!!!"_

"There is no need to so angry, mien heir. Just calm down and we will let you out."

Edward almost screamed in frustration, clutching at the sides of his head, his temper running so high that he couldn't even see straight past the haze of red. He spun around and circle-kicked the door, which of course had no effect other than to send painful shivers up the automail into his thigh. He grimaced and hopped away, gripping his leg, and the pain helped him to think a little clearer. He looked around the room for a moment, and his eyes alighted on the porcelain washbasin on the other side of the toilet. He walked over to it, realizing that it wasn't attached to its metal stand, and he hefted the object, testing its weight. It was pretty heavy, probably weighing at least 50 pounds.

"Mien heir…are you going to behave yourself now?"

Edward looked over to the door and then back at the washbasin thoughtfully, a wicked grin forming across his face seconds later.

"I'm coming in, mien heir," Franz told him, and the big man hesitated for only a second before pushing in the door and walking in. He looked around in surprise when he didn't immediately see Edward, until he realized that the washbasin was missing. He started to turn to the left when Edward dropped the basin on the man's head, practically throwing it so that it broke into four pieces when it collided with the man's skull. A thoroughly satisfied grin on his face, Edward leaped down off the toilet seat and ran out of the bathroom, ducking low as one of the four other men in the room made a grab for him. He spun on the side of his ankle and took the man's legs out from under him, and then, never leaving his crouch, flipped onto his back and planted both feet firmly into the solar plexus of the second man. As the man fell away, he snapped his body like a whip and jumped straight to his feet, setting himself into a defensive stance that was ready to meet the onslaught of the third man and fourth man.

The two men looked at each other, shocked by the sheer viciousness of the young man's fighting style, but then they nodded and went forward together, both grabbing for him at the same time. They caught nothing but air as the youth ducked low again, balancing easily on his hands and kicking out with his feet to either side. He caught the man on his left in the knee and the man lurched back, howling in pain, but the man on his right had jumped back well out of range, expecting the move. Edward tucked his legs back together and brought them straight back over his head, back flipping away from the man's hands again. He ran over and ducked behind the two red velvet chairs, grabbing the lamp and throwing it at the man, who instinctively ducked, giving Edward the opportunity to scurry over to the table across the way and grab one of the two little pudgy porcelain cherubs sitting there. When the man turned to face him, he had to duck again in order to keep the normally innocent projectile from crashing against his skull. Edward grabbed the other one and threw that, following it quickly with the heavy china plate the two cherubs had been resting on. Both objects shattered against the wall, harmless objects once more. The Nazi facing him grinned wickedly, knowing that he had the advantage of strength and size and that Edward was fresh out of missiles.

At that moment, the first Nazi Edward had tripped rose up and lurched forward towards the young man, but Edward put his foot against the table and shoved it forward into the man's gut. The fourth man facing him took that moment to run forward and attempt to tackle him, but Edward was too smart for that, grabbing the wooden chair and brandishing it before him like a lion tamer. He kept it, and the man, in front of him and turned his back towards the door, backing up slowly towards it. When his back rested against it, he threw the chair with all his might and wheeled around, grabbing for the door handles, and realizing a moment too late that the sneaky bastards had locked the door. Before he could begin to unlock the door, the fourth man locked his arm around Edward's throat and dragged him backwards away from the door. At a disadvantage and having no desire to crush his own windpipe, Edward went with the man, hands flying up to grip the arm and he bent at the waist, pulling the man up over his back and throwing him into the two red chairs. The threat to his back seemingly neutralized, Edward ran for the doors again, but was once again deterred by two of the men who had recovered enough to get in front of the door. They raced at him, grabbing him firmly by the arms, and they kept going, heading straight into the bedroom, disappearing from view.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

A half an hour later, when the commotion seemed to have died down enough to brave entry, Maria slipped into the room, on her way to deliver a message. She paused in shock at the sight of the normally perfect rooms in such a state of disarray, the two red velvet chairs virtually destroyed, the stuffing spewing out of them from all angles and the back of one cleanly broken off. Several porcelain objects rested on the floor along with a very valuable lamp and one of the wooden chairs from the table had three of its four legs broken free. The five Nazis sat around on the remaining furniture, Franz holding a wet cloth against the top of his head while another had a blood-soaked hand towel wrapped around his forearm. Maria crunched her way over to them.

"What in the world happened?" she asked, completely astonished by the mess.

"Our young friend tried another daring escape," Franz explained. "We had him trapped in the bathroom but he tricked me into opening the door and dropped the washbasin on my head."

Maria looked at the man nursing the arm wound.

"What happened to you?" she asked, wondering just how violent the fight had been.

"He _bit_ me," the man spat out, clearly suffering from a bruised pride as well as his more obvious injury. "Little bastard nearly took a chunk out of my arm!"

Maria looked around.

"Where is he now?"

The men all pointed wordlessly to the bedroom, and Maria eyed the door warily before moving over to it.

The young man was quite a sight to behold when she opened the door. The men had trapped Edward in a position from which he would most likely have to be Houdini to escape from. They had placed him upon on a stool, and had used the various blankets lying about to bind him up. One sheet was wrapped securely about the young man's torso, trapping his arms tightly to either side of his body, and it looked as if he were wearing one of the jackets given to mental patients. Another blanket had been wrapped tightly around his legs, covering him from knee to ankle, and a third had been twisted tightly into a cord and fastened three times around his waist, tying him firmly to the bedpost behind him. Edward only glowered at Maria, squirming uncomfortably in a vain effort to free himself from the all-entrapping blankets. She blinked at him a few times before she backed out of the room and looked at the five Nazis.

"How long has he been there?" she asked, numb with surprise.

"Oh…about a half an hour or so," Franz answered, and from his tone it was clear to the girl that they had no intention of releasing the young man anytime soon.

"And how long are you planning on keeping him there?"

"Until he decides to behave himself."

There was absolutely no compromise in the eyes of the five men.

"Well, Signore Martigue wants to see him."

"When?"

"Now."

The four men all looked at Franz who sighed tiredly and rose to his feet. He moved past the young girl and went into the bedroom, standing a good distance away from the young man and putting his hands on his hips. Edward glared up at him so scathingly that, if looks could kill, his definitely would have done the deed.

"Alright, you rabid little mongrel," Franz said, his tone clearly irritated. "The boss wants to see you. Are you going to behave yourself?"

Edward didn't answer, just steadily glowered at the man. Franz crossed his arms.

"You better be good, because if you can't behave, you're going right back onto that pole. You hear me? Right back. And you'll stay there until you can behave yourself."

Edward stayed silent, promising nothing, but Franz moved forward anyway, kneeling down and reaching for the knot in the blanket securing Edward to the pole. Just as his hand was about to come into contact with the tie, the wild gleam returned to Edward's golden eyes, and he snapped his teeth at Franz's arm, forcing the man to yank his hand away.

"Hey!" Franz said, pointing a finger threateningly in Edward's face. "No biting!"

The look on Edward's face showed that he clearly didn't care what Franz would do to him, because he lifted both of his legs, swinging them up towards the man's side. Franz grabbed his ankles and forced his legs back down, keeping his gaze locked steadily with Edward's.

"And no kicking! If you won't behave, you'll stay right there until you can, you little brat!!"

Edward clearly wasn't happy, but he relented, and Franz reached up carefully for the knot in the blankets. When Edward made no moves against, he quickly untied the youth, freeing him from the blankets completely. Franz moved away from him, pulling out his gun and pointing it at the young man, who quietly rose to his feet and started forward. Franz moved out of the room and let the young man move past him, grabbing him by the arm and gesturing for the two less injured men to lead while the others would follow.

"Come," he said, and the two men rose to their feet, also drawing their pistols. Franz released Edward's arm and gestured that he should go first, and Edward did, stopping only so that the man to his left could open the door for him and for Maria, who was walking at his side. He moved out into the hallway, pausing when Franz grabbed the back of his shirt to pull him back a step, letting two other men move out before the young man with their P08 Parabellum handguns drawn. Once they were past him, Franz released him, and Edward started down the steps, feeling Franz's pistol at his back the whole way. Maria looked over at him questioning, but he didn't say anything, didn't even meet her gaze.

A few minutes later, they reached the bottom of the stairwell and Edward stopped. The five Nazis stared at him in surprise, each moving back a cautious distance from him. For a moment, he said nothing, but he gave Maria a furtive glance, and she moved away to the side, acting as if she were moving off to dust off a vase. Franz stepped up to him then, jabbing him in the right arm with his gun, never noticing the lack of give under the barrel's pressure.

"Keep moving!" he ordered, now in no mood to play any games. Edward tilted his head up at the man and smiled disarmingly, and Franz pulled his gun back, thinking that perhaps the young man was a bit lightheaded from the blows to his head and had just needed a pause to clear his head. He saw that dangerous gleam return to the youth's eyes a moment too late, and was thusly unable to block Edward's foot from crushing his groin. With a high pitched gurgle, Franz grabbed his injury and crumpled, and Edward's foot dropped back to the ground.

"_That_ was for calling me little!!!" he spat. Without even looking behind him, he jabbed his metal elbow into the stomach of the man approaching from the right, and then turned swiftly on his heel to smash his fist into the nose of the man on the left. The other two men raised their guns, one shouting for backup, when Maria cracked the vase she was holding right over the head of the man on Edward's left. As the man fell away, Edward approached the other man, every muscle in his compact frame twitching in anticipation of gunfire. As fifteen men ran into the foyer, Edward kicked the gun out of the man's hand and then kicked the man sharply in the face. He ran past the falling body and grabbed Maria's hand, taking off towards the back of the villa, trying to get away from the pursuing Nazis. He started to turn right down the hallway, when Maria pulled in the opposite direction.

"This way!" she explained, and Edward followed the pull of her hand, trusting her. They ran down the hallway as fast as they could, ignoring the shouts of the men behind them, and Maria slammed through the swinging door into the kitchen beyond.

The Nazis were too well prepared, because ten of them were waiting to meet the two. Edward grabbed for the carving knifes beside him, but froze when the man in the front of the ten before them fired a warning shot mere centimeters from his face. Desperately, he and Maria wheeled as one for the doors behind them, but the fifteen pursuing Nazis were there to meet them. Boxed in, Edward gritted his teeth and clenched his hands into fists. Suddenly, a miraculously recovered and extremely enraged Franz broke through to the front of the group blocking the hallway.

"You should have behaved yourself, mien heir," he said, voice low and threatening, and he pulled a length of rope off of his belt. Holding it out between his hands, he approached with ominously echoing footsteps.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Martigue looked up from the chess board before him in mild amusement as Edward and Maria were thrust into the study, hands bound tightly behind their backs.

"Ah, monsieur, so good of you to finally show up," he said, completely nonchalant as he returned his gaze to the chess board and moved a pawn. Edward could see that someone sat in the high backed chair facing Martigue, their back to him.

"So sorry to keep you waiting," Edward bit back, full to the brim of spite and fire. "I was a little preoccupied."

"Don't worry yourself," Martigue said, following Edward's lead as if he didn't notice the sarcasm rolling off the young man's tongue. He watched as the person across from him moved in and captured one of his pawns. "I merely passed the time with my good friend, Vergil."

He smiled at the mysterious person across the way and nodded.

"Vergil says he knows you very well, monsieur, and he has been telling me many interesting things about you."

As Martigue spoke the words, the man named Vergil rose from his seat, turning around and facing Edward, smiling and sliding his hands into his pockets.

Edward's eyes flew wide. No…it wasn't possible…

Everyone from his world had a counterpart here in this one, so maybe that was the case here. And yet…just his stance, the look in his eyes, even the way he _smiled_ was so overwhelmingly familiar that for a second he could almost believe that it _was_ him. The face certainly wasn't the same; the man who stood before Edward had shoulder length, dark gold hair that appeared tamed and wild all at once; his eyes were a dark brownish-gold that had that particular gleam to them; all in all…he looked either exactly like a younger version of Hohenheim or an older version of Edward. But…it couldn't be…it just wasn't…

"Hello, Edward," the man said, voice deep and silky smooth. It wasn't the same voice, but the words carried the same inflections, accenting them in almost exactly the same way, that it could easily...but no! That was impossible! …wasn't it?

"It's been a long time," the man continued. "I know I've changed quite a bit since the last time we saw each other, but surely you remember _me_, don't you?"

Edward went cold to the bone. Oh, he had tried, but that was a face that he would never forget for as long as he lived, a face so similar to his own that it was like looking through a mirror to the future. He knew it now, but his mind was still having a tough time really accepting it as truth.

"Why, monsieur, whatever is the matter?" Martigue asked. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

The man who called himself Vergil only smirked wickedly and turned to throw the smile over his shoulder to the Frenchman.

"Oh, it's alright, I'm sure. I think he's just so shocked to see me again after all these years."

He turned back to Edward, and the smile was unmistakably _his_.

"Aren't you," he said, pausing dramatically before adding, "…little brother?"

Edward almost fainted right there and part of him wanted to if only to escape from accepting that any of this could really be happening to him. Finally, he found his voice, but the words came out in an almost inaudible whisper.

_"Envy…"_

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Dun dun DUN!!!!

( insert evil kitty grin here ) MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! I LEAVE YOU IN SUSPENSE!!! I AM EEEEEEEEEEEVIL!!

(calms, sweatdrops) Eheh…sorry about that…I've got a lot of sugar pumping through me right now, so I'm a little zany. Anyways…answers to come later!!

Please review!!


	11. Chapter 11

Because I was so evil last chapter, I decided to be nice and pick up where I left off… but don't get used to it, because it might not happen all the time!! (Just kidding, please don't hate me! -whimpers-) Please review!!

**Chapter 11**

"H…how…how can…how did…?"

The words that Edward wanted to say simply wouldn't come, leaving him stuttering and reduced to opening and closing his mouth in a motion akin to a gasping fish lying out of the water on the shore. It was as if his brain had simply shut down and malfunctioned, refusing to work properly or in any way that might aid him at this very moment.

And _he_ just stood there so smugly, looking for all the world like a thief who'd stolen the king's crown right off his head and gotten away with it. Martigue eyed the scene in slight confusion, feeling that something much deeper had gone on between Edward and "Vergil", something that he would probably never comprehend even if they bothered to explain it. When Vergil had said that he and young Edward had had a falling out in the past, he'd figured it was probably something trivial and unimportant. Clearly, however, whatever had occurred between them had been a lot worse than he'd thought. He'd never seen Edward so off balance, so pale and shaken! He looked at Vergil's back and quirked an eyebrow questioningly. What in the world had happened that the mere sight of this man would strike such fear into the heart of the young scientist?

There came a light knocking at the door before the wooden portal swung wide to reveal the butler.

"Signore Martigue," he said. "There is a phone call for you."

"Oui, monsieur. I shall be there to take it in a moment."

"Yes, signore."

Martigue rose, taking one last inquiring look before leaving the room. "Vergil" meanwhile, went back to the chessboard and studied it. Edward watched him, nerves all taut, his whole body on high alert.

"'Vergil', huh?" he finally spoke up. "Is that the name you've chosen for yourself here?"

Envy looked over at him and smirked.

"Actually," he said, straightening his light green tweed jacket, "'Vergil van Dendrich' was the name that came attached to this body."

Edward stared hard at him.

"How did you survive?"

Envy only smiled, and Edward continued out loud, annoyed by the secretive shadow lining the other man's face.

"I was there. I saw them use you to open the Gate. How did you manage to get out??"

Beside Edward, Maria looked between the two men in absolute confusion. What was he talking about?

Envy kept his smirk intact and finally looked up at Edward in a sly, sideways look.

"What you saw, _little brother_, was Eckhart using my _body_ to open the Gate. My _soul_, however, remained quite intact on _this_ side."

Edward started and shook his head.

"I don't understand."

"What?"

The man's tone was mocking, and he put a hand against his chest with theatrical flourish. "The great Edward Elric, the greatest alchemist of his time, doesn't understand what I, a nonalchemist and simple minded fool, am talking about??"

Edward glared and growled threateningly under his breath, while Envy just _smirked_, filled to the brim with arrogance. He moved around to the other side of the chessboard and picked up one of his own captured pawns, holding it aloft in a seemingly thoughtful manner before returning his gaze to Edward.

"It's simple. My dragon body was taken to pay for the toll, as was the Philosopher's Stone I carried at my core."

Edward flinched at the mention of that object. Maria stood in complete and utter confusion, looking at his face, trying to find an answer. Philosopher's Stone? Toll? What in the world were they talking about??

"Did you forget about that little gem, _dear brother_? That cut the price nearly in half."

He placed the pawn back down on the table.

"My soul wandered the emptiness for a long time, until something pulled at it, yanking it out and drawing it straight down into this body."

He gently slapped a hand against his own chest. Edward felt a chill run through him as a thought crossed his mind, and he could barely force himself to ask his next question.

"And what of the real Vergil? What happened to him?"

Envy grinned maliciously.

"There's only room for one in these vessels, Edward. You know that."

Edward felt the bile rise in his throat. Before he could question Envy further, Martigue walked back into the room with a smile on his face and Edward's leather bound notebook in his hands.

"Well, did you two catch up on old times?" he asked with fake cheerfulness. Envy gave Edward a smug glance before turning a broad smile upon Martigue.

"In a manner of speaking, yes," he replied.

"Excellent! Well, gentlemen, it's time to talk business."

He gestured to a wooden chair conspicuously placed to the side, and the two Nazis standing at Edward's elbows grabbed him and dragged him over to it, throwing him down roughly. Edward gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to kill all of them, while a stool was produced and placed about a foot to his left. Two other Nazis ordered Maria to sit down on it, and she did so without a word. Martigue, meanwhile, brandished the book in his left hand, bouncing it slightly as if to test its weight for value. He stood in front of Edward for a long moment, saying nothing, while the young man just glared back up at him.

"I found this to be a very interesting read," he finally said.

"Fantastic."

The sarcasm in Edward's voice was almost thick enough to cut with a knife.

"I must say, monsieur, I am impressed with your knowledge and vocabulary. Your phraseology is impeccable."

"Thanks. I'm impressed that you haven't burned that thing yet."

Martigue chuckled.

"Monsieur, I am a man of learning. Unlike some of my rather…_uneducated_ colleagues, I do not believe in the burning of books."

"That's great. Maybe you'll get a gold star."

"The thing I found most interesting, though," the man continued as if he hadn't heard the young man, "was that some of the pages are torn out of this book."

He opened the cover and ran his thumb through the pages, opening it up to a particular area where there were, indeed, three pages missing.

"You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you, monsieur?"

Edward blinked at that a moment before looking up at the man.

"No," he answered, and it really wasn't a lie. Martigue nodded knowingly.

"I thought you might say that. As a precaution, we had your belongings searched."

Edward started indignantly.

"We didn't find anything."

The Frenchman's amber eyes stared at him pryingly.

"That doesn't mean you don't know where they are."

"Actually…it does, because I _don't_ know where they are."

Martigue crossed his arms.

"What do you think the likelihood of my believing you is?" he asked.

"Slim to none, and Slim just left the building."

The man nodded.

"I'm glad to see we're on the same page."

Edward sighed in frustration.

"Look, have I been anywhere near that damn thing since you've had it? No. I was your prisoner _before_ you had it, and it has been with_ you_ ever since. When would I have had the chance to sneak into your room, get the book, tear out the pages, and sneak back out _with_ _no one noticing _if it's been with _you_ the whole time??"

Martigue tapped the top edge of the book's spine against his chin thoughtfully before nodding.

"Alright. You have a point, monsieur. However, there is one thing I would like to know."

"Yes, this is my natural hair color."

Martigue smirked.

"Not quite what I was going for, monsieur."

Edward gave him a sarcastic look.

"_Really_?"

"Oui."

He tapped the book with one finger.

"You wrote this book. You know what's in it, correct?"

"Maybe."

"Come on, monsieur. You cannot play me for a fool."

"And again, I say 'maybe'."

"What was written on those three pages?"

Edward struck a mockingly snobbish pose and turned his head to the right.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he said in a sardonically haughty voice. Martigue frowned.

"Monsieur, I'm running low on my patience for you and your games."

"Well, Andy, I think that makes two of us."

Something dangerous flashed through the man's eyes and he slapped Edward hard across the face. One look at the youth's smug grin and he knew he'd been baited.

"I grow tired of your childish pranks!" he spat. He shook the book in Edward's face. "You know what was written on the three pages taken from here!!"

"So what?" Edward retorted.

"Tell me what was there!"

"What are you going to do if I don't?"

"Monsieur…"

"What, Andy? What are you gonna do if I don't tell you?"

Again came that look and this time Martigue backhanded the youth with tremendous force in the opposite direction.

"Monsieur, up until now, I've treated you like a perfect gentleman when I had no reason to do so!"

"Whose fault is that??" Edward yelled, itching for a fight. "What?? You thought if you treated me _nice_ that I'd think, 'Gee, that Andy is a real _swell_ guy, and he's been _so nice_ to me, that_ I_ think I'll tell him where the uranium bomb is so he can blow up half the world!!'"

Edward dropped the overly cheerful demeanor and he sneered at the man.

"Don't make me laugh," he said.

He could see that Martigue was requiring everything within him to resist strangling him where he sat. The man's chest heaved angrily, and he held his eyes shut, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. Finally, he opened his eyes and looked at Edward.

"You know, monsieur, we have ways of making you talk."

Edward rolled his eyes.

"Give it a rest, will you? Torturing me won't do you any good, either."

The thoroughly wicked smile that broke over Martigue's face sent a chill down his spine, and for a moment, Edward was almost beginning to regret his decision.

"Monsieur, I am a gentleman. I wouldn't _dream_ of resorting to such _vulgar_ methods."

Edward didn't say anything as he felt the proverbial shoe slide onto the other foot. Martigue clapped his hands loudly, and a man walked into the room carrying a sturdy looking briefcase. He kept his back to Edward as he opened it to Martigue, who lifted out a vial of some translucent liquid Edward didn't recognize. The Frenchman looked at the item almost lovingly before turning his gaze back to Edward.

"Do you know what this is, monsieur?"

Edward just glared, not liking where this was going one bit. Martigue just grinned voraciously at him.

"I will take that as a 'no'."

The man circled Edward's chair like a hunting cat closing in on its prey. The movement made Edward extremely nervous.

"It's called _siero di verità_," he continued, and that made Maria's eyes grow wide in terror.

"No," she gasped out. Edward looked over at her questioningly. She returned Edward's look.

"He chose a language he knew you wouldn't understand, signore," she explained. "But…what that means is…"

She choked on the words, the implication too much for her to spit out. Martigue helped her.

"That, of course, is the Italian way of saying it. The Germans who manufactured this ingenious little product call it _wahrheit serum_."

Edward had lived in Germany long enough to have learned most, if not all, of the language, but the words didn't explain anything, because he'd never heard of 'truth serum' before in his life. He did know, however, that the obvious inference didn't sound good.

"I take from your expression that you've never had any experience with this product," Martigue interjected. When Edward didn't answer, he continued.

"Well, monsieur, as its name indicates, once under the influence of this little drug, a person seems to be _unable_ to keep from telling the_ truth_."

Edward's stomach did flips and he stiffened.

"There's no way in hell you'll get me to drink that crap," he put in, making sure that Martigue knew where he stood on the issue. He kept his eyes locked on the tiny vial until Martigue replaced it out of sight in its briefcase, and Edward stared hard at the man's smirking expression.

"Oh, monsieur…you misunderstand. You don't _drink_ truth serum."

Edward's golden eyes widened in sheer and absolute horror as the man lifted a loaded syringe from the briefcase and held it up for him to see.

"You _inject_ it," he finished unnecessarily.

For a moment, no one moved, until Edward jolted out of his seat as if he had been electrically shocked and tried to make a break for it, only to be grabbed by three Nazis standing nearby and forced back into his seat. He fought wildly, kicking and shouting in protest, but the grip of the arm around his throat never lessened, and inevitably, the left sleeve of his shirt was rolled up to a point where most of his primary veins were exposed, letting the men have their pick. A fourth Nazi took the needle from Martigue's hand and moved around behind Edward, and, pulling the protective cap from the needle's tip with his teeth, he reached over to grab a firm hold on Edward's exposed arm.

"No!!" Edward shouted, lurching forward in an effort to break the grips of the three Nazis who held him in place. The arm around his throat tightened, and he choked for a split second, which was all the fourth man needed to plunge the needle into a large vein in Edward's wrist and inject the fluid. Edward cried out in pain and struggled a little more, but it was of little consequence, for the deed was soon done, and the men moved away from him. Edward panted for breath, vision already started to blur slightly as the drug started to take effect, and he slumped back in his seat. Martigue's grin never wavered and he crossed his arms.

"I'll return in a few moments, after everything's had a chance to work its way through," he said, and then left the room, Envy and all but one of the guards following him out.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

About fifteen minutes passed in silence as Maria studied Edward in growing concern. Eventually, Edward let out a low groan and his head tilted over to lie somewhat on his right shoulder.

"Edward?" Maria inquired, to which she received another soft moan in response. "Edward?"

He looked over at her, and she could see the hazy look in his eyes.

"Hmmm?" he asked a few moments later, dragging the sound out almost drunkenly. Maria studied him closer.

"Is it working?" she asked. Edward heaved a long sigh and tilted his head back, closing his eyes.

"I dunno…ask me a question…" he finally said after a long pause, his speech badly slurred. Maria hesitated slightly before voicing her concerns.

"Are we going to die?"

Edward squinted up at the ceiling and then his face screwed up in a comically serious manner.

"Yup…" he said.

Maria's heart skipped a beat in fear.

"Oh," she said, and Edward heaved another sigh, shifting around in his seat.

"They're probably gonna torture us…well, at least me…probably'll rip out my intestines and use 'em to hang me…"

He looked over at Maria, one eye squinting in a laughable attempt at a contemplative look.

"I dunno what they'll do t'you…but it won't be pretty…"

Maria gave him a hard look.

"Thank you, Edward. That'll be enough."

Edward shrugged and tilted his head back again, his eyes shut once more as he readjusted himself.

"_Man_," he said after a few seconds of silence. "This stuff is some pretty good shit…"

Before Maria could share how completely un-amusing this entire situation was to her, Martigue returned, bringing along behind him a Nazi who carried a kit of some kind. The man cleared the chessboard off the table and started to lay out the items in his kit—all of which looked very unpleasant to Maria and she didn't think their purpose could be very pleasant, either—as Martigue pulled over a chair and sat down before Edward, whose gaze drifted lethargically over to the man.

"So, monsieur, how are we doing?"

Edward smirked, a soft whisper of a snort emitting from his nose.

"_I'm_ feelin' pretty damn high right now," he said. "I can't speak for you."

Martigue smiled in satisfaction.

"Indeed. Now, monsieur, I'm going to ask you a few questions."

"Shoot."

"Where is it?"

Edward blinked confusedly at the man.

"Well, 'it' is at the end of your sentence," he answered as if Martigue were a very small child. Martigue frowned.

"No, the uranium bomb."

"…say what?"

"Where is the uranium bomb?"

"Oh that…yeah, I hid it."

Martigue put his hands over his face and resisted the urge to yank out his own hair.

"I know _that_, monsieur. What I want to know is where you hid it."

"But I didn't hide 'it'. You just used it at the end of your sentence!"

"Monsieur, tell me where the uranium bomb is hidden, or I shall get very testy!"

Edward giggled.

"You just said 'testy'."

"I _know_ what I said, monsieur. Where did you hide the uranium bomb?"

Edward sat with his mouth open for a long time before he screwed up his face in a hilarious rendition of an indignant face.

"I can't tell you _that_," he said, again sounding as if Martigue needed to be led by the hand and taught everything with careful painfulness. "You're the bad guy!"

Martigue growled in frustration before deciding to take a different approach.

"Monsieur, you took the bomb and hid it somewhere, correct?"

"Yup!"

"You wrote it down in your notebook, oui?"

"Yup!"

"What is the name of the place you wrote in your notebook?"

Edward squinted his eyes thoughtfully and blinked for several moments before a lightbulb went off in his head.

"Iskenderun and Berlin! Those are the only cities that appear in that notebook."

Martigue clenched his fist in victory.

"Alright, monsieur. Where in Iskenderun did you hide the uranium bomb?"

Again, Edward sat in silence for a very long time, except this time he began to giggle uncontrollably, until he was laughing so hysterically, tears started to run down his cheeks. Martigue frowned.

"What is so funny?" he demanded gruffly. It took Edward nearly five minutes to try to swallow his sniggers without choking before he could answer.

"Wanna know a little secret?" he asked, biting back another bout of chortles that threatened to burst loose.

"Sure," Martigue answered testily, fast losing patience. Edward giggled a few more times before leaning conspiratorially towards Martigue.

"I can't tell you where the uranium bomb is because…_I don't know_!!" he said before dissolving into another unrestrained giggling fit. 

Martigue blinked in disbelief for a long moment, his jaw dropping open in dismay.

"You don't _know_??" he said, completely dumbfounded. Edward snickered.

"Nope!" he answered rather cheerily. "No clue!! Isn't that _hilarious_??"

Martigue failed to see the hilarity of the situation and it showed on his face.

"Do you know how much trouble you're in right now?" he demanded angrily.

"No, but if you hum a few bars, I'll fake it," Edward shot right back, nonplussed by the man's tone. Martigue leapt from his seat as if it burned him and wheeled around behind it.

"I've tried everything!! I've been patient!! But no more!!"

He stormed out of the room, nodding to the extra man who grinned wickedly and started to look through the various devices of torture for the one that could inflict the most possible pain. Maria looked over at Edward, panic stricken, wondering what she should do. Edward, meanwhile, started singing a very naughty ditty insulting the size of Martigue's most private areas in a very loud voice, seemingly at ease. He stopped when the man stood in front of him, a tool that would undoubtedly be used to flay the skin from his body brandished in the man's left hand, and he blinked up at the man.

"Don't be angry," the German said. "You brought this upon yourself."

He started towards the young man, but stopped when Edward heaved a deep, soulful sigh.

"I have a confession to make," Edward said.

"Already? We've only just begun," the man pouted.

"Yeah, but…it's kinda important."

"Oh, alright…what is it?"

Edward's expression was a very ridiculous attempt at looking apologetic.

"I'm going to have to kick your ass," he said in a tone that sounded like he didn't really want to, but had to because he had no other choice. The man snorted and put his hands on his hips.

"Really?? And how are you going to do that with your hands tied behind your back?"

Edward nodded as if he had expected the man to say that.

"Yeah, see, that's what I have to confess."

The German torturer had seen many surprises in his life, but nothing surprised him more completely then when Edward pulled his hands out from behind his back and displayed the ropes dangling loosely around his left arm.

"See…my hands have been untied for the last fifteen minutes," he said, shrugging helplessly. The German's eyes widened and he backed away, opening his mouth to call for reinforcements, when Edward rose to his feet and planted his metal foot right into the man's mouth. The German dropped like a sack of bricks. Edward staggered over to Maria and untied her hands, and then proceeded to fall over, but Maria caught him about the waist and kept him upright.

"Let's get out of here," she said.

"Righto!!" Edward cheered, leaning heavily against her and stumbling like a drunken man.

"Ed?"

"Yes, darling?"

"First off…don't call me darling…and secondly…don't talk until we get out of here, okay?"

"Righto!!"

The two stumbled out the door, heading for the nearest exit.

"Oy! They shouldn't make floors that slant!! That's dangerous!!"

"The floors _aren't_ slanting, Edward…_you_ are…"

"…oh…"

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Aaaaaaaaaaaand CUT!

Bwhahahahaha! Poor Martigue!! Didn't quite turn out the way he planned, did it?

You know…he really could save himself the trouble and just tickle Ed!! That'd get him talkin'!!

Ed: (petrified blush) WILL YOU SHUT UP????? (looks around nervously and whispers harshly) The fangirls might hear you!!!

(sly look) Hear me say what? That the Fullmetal Alchemist is ticklish?

Ed: Oo (bluuuuuuuush) I AM NOT!! ( precautionary side covering maneuver shown here )

(eeeeeeeeeeeeevil kitty grin) Uh huh… (waggles fingers threateningly) So you won't care if I… (gooses openings on Ed's sides) find out for myself??

Ed: OO EEP!! (leaps almost a foot in the air and to the side) 666 NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! (panicked fleeing)

(snickers) He's so much fun to torment…


	12. Chapter 12

Finally, after a looooong hiatus, I have returned with AVENGENCE!!

Ed: (crosses arms) Took you long enough…slacker.

T.T Why are you so mean to me??

Ed: Because you won't get motivated otherwise…and besides…you kidnapped me.

It wasn't me!! It was Aki!!

Ed: (forehead twitch) Aki is a mere creation of your mind, and thusly I hold YOU responsible!!

T.T You're so unfair…

Anyway…please enjoy!!

**Chapter 12**

Alphonse jogged up to where Eliazaar stood leaning on a mailbox, reading a newspaper.

"Anything?" the Turkish man asked him, and Alphonse shook his head.

"I showed several people his picture, and everyone said they'd never seen him."

Eliazaar sighed.

"I had the same," he said. "When I described him, no one could tell me anything."

"Maybe Dad'll have something," Alphonse hoped. His hopes would prove to be fruitless, for when Hohenheim rolled the rented car up alongside of them and climbed out, he shook his head at their questioning looks.

"Nothing. I went to the real estate agency and claimed to be a friend of Andre de Martigue's, but they wouldn't tell me anything."

Alphonse sighed and put his hands on his hips in frustration.

"So now what?"

"We know he owns a villa…" Eliazaar began. Alphonse nodded.

"Everyone in Italy owns a villa," Hohenheim answered. "That doesn't exactly narrow down the choices."

"What are we going to do? There's three of us, and this is a big city. Martigue could have gotten the information he needed already and Brother could already be dead by now!!" Alphonse put in frantically.

"Don't jump to conclusions, my friend," Eliazaar comforted. "Edward is no doubt fine. You know as well as I do that he's fully capable of looking after himself."

Alphonse knew that, but anytime his high maintenance older brother was involved in anything dangerous, Alphonse couldn't help but worry.

"So, what should we do?" Hohenheim asked as the minutes slid by in silence.

"Let's go down to the riverside. We can observe the villas there, and perhaps pick up a few clues along the way," Eliazaar suggested. Hohenheim looked over at Alphonse, who shrugged.

"We've got nothing else," he said, showing his agreement.

"Alright, then. Let's go," Hohenheim said, pulling the keys out of his pocket. They all slid into the car, Alphonse in the back, Eliazaar in the front with Hohenheim.

Alphonse leaned on the door handle, chin in hand, looking forlornly out the window. A light rain was beginning to fall, and he gave a low sigh. How in the world were they going to find Edward? That question circled around and around in his head so many times, that he began to think he would go crazy. Venice was a very big city, and it wasn't like Edward was going to just fall into their laps. Suddenly, Alphonse wished for something, some sign that would guide them to where they needed to go.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Maria and Edward were making quite a daring escape from Martigue's villa.

After leaving Martigue's study, Maria led her rather unsteady companion down the hall to the servant's wing of the building, where they met with Signora Giuseppe. The older woman handed Maria a set of car keys to the house van that they used when shopping in the market.

"Here, _mi bambino_, take these. I will try and keep things quiet for as long as I can."

"Thank you, Signora."

Edward just smiled dumbly, not entirely aware of what was going on. Without a word, Maria and Signora Giuseppe went their separate ways, Maria all but dragging Edward out the door to the van, where she struggled to open the passenger door. Sensing this, Edward reached across her and yanked with all his strength, which caused both of them to almost lose their balance, but Maria was quick as a cat and managed to stay up. Using all the strength her lithe body could muster, plus Edward's already uncertain equilibrium, she somewhat pushed him into the van, where he fell heavily across the seat. Having little time to waste for him to slowly decide to pull his legs in after him, she grabbed his ankles and threw his legs in, slamming the door shut and rushing to the driver's side, where she fired up the engine, ignoring Edward's stream of giggles at having been thrown into the vehicle.

A pang of dismay shot through her heart when she realized two things: one, the engine was extremely low on fuel, and two, the gate behind her leading to the roadway was still locked. Wondering for a moment what to do, the decision was taken out of her hands as four Nazi's came into view of her rearview mirrors, their machine guns pointing straight at the van. They commanded her to step out of the vehicle. Maria cursed.

"What do I do?" she muttered softly to herself.

"Bah," Edward replied with a halfhearted wave of his hand, thinking the question was aimed at him. "Just…run 'em over."

Maria almost dismissed him, until she really considered the option. She turned and looked at the gate. It was a solid sturdy construction made of wrought iron that had lasted for far longer than she'd been alive.

"Step out of the vehicle!!" the leader of the Nazis commanded again. The four had formed a semi circle around the back of the vehicle. She weighed her options again. Backing up was clearly the craziest thing she could do, but that gate had quite obviously passed its heyday, rusting and slowly corroding from the lack of regular maintenance. Maria grinned wickedly and flipped the gears into reverse, revving the engine. The men brandished their guns, and their leader commanded her not to do anything rash, but to cut the engine and step out of the vehicle with her hands behind her head.

Maria slammed on the gas.

Edward nearly fell onto the floor of the van as the vehicle zoomed backwards with a hair-raising squeal of tires. The four men stood in absolute amazement at the sight of someone disobeying an order that had come directly from the Nazis themselves. At a loss, they barely managed to escape at the last second, diving aside and covering their heads as the van slammed full force into the gate, receiving brutal damage that bent the rear bumper beyond repair and broke most of the glass in the back windshield. However, the same momentum pulled the gate right off its hinges with a bone-grating screech of metal. Maria continued backwards and slammed right into a tree across the way, damaging the back of the van even more. She lurched forward, and Edward rolled off his seat onto the floor under the dashboard, but Maria recovered quickly, switching gears faster than the four Nazis could get up from their prone positions and fire at them. She slammed on the accelerator once more, turning the wheel sharply, and the vehicle sped off down the road, far out of range of any pursuit.

"Where're we going?" Edward asked from his semi-kneeling position after a few moments.

"I'm going to get you as close to the Embassy as possible before this thing runs out of gas," Maria replied.

"Ah," Edward replied before slumping against the seat and passing out.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Mustang's leg bounced up and down quickly, the only thing betraying his nervousness. He and Havoc were sitting in a booth at a small Italian café on the riverside where Andre de Martigue's villa was supposed to reside, fishing around for a trail. For the moment, the coffee shop was quiet, a low murmur reverberating throughout the small restaurant. Mustang stared out the window at the rain as it came down more steadily onto the Italian streets, and Havoc idly watched the steam rising from the cups of coffee sitting in front of the two of them.

"Something foul is afoot," Mustang finally spoke up. Havoc looked at him curiously.

"What do you mean?" he said when his superior didn't elaborate. Mustang turned away from the window and clasped his hands under his chin, staring blankly at the tabletop.

"What does this kid have?" he mused out loud for Havoc's benefit. "What does Elric have that Martigue wants?"

"Knowledge of uranium," Havoc put in. "Knowledge on how to make nuclear powered weapons."

"Yeah…but there's got to be something more than that. If Martigue wanted that knowledge alone, then why grab the kid? Why not grab his research notes?"

"Maybe he doesn't know the kid was making notes?"

"No, he had to know about the notes. If he knew the kid was doing research, he would have _had_ to have known about his notes. No, I think there's something bigger going on here…Elric's got something else and Martigue wants it."

"Well, what could it be? We've read Elric's notes thoroughly and found nothing."

"Which means that whatever it is, it's something Elric doesn't want public knowledge to have access to," Mustang finished, eyes going wide as he sat up a little straighter.

"Yeah, sure," Havoc said, not seeing where the conclusion was helping. "But that could be a number of different things."

"It could indeed…but think about it!" Mustang said excitedly, fishing into his briefcase and pulling out his copy of the research notes. He pointed to a section he'd highlighted:

_U-235 is better for making nuclear weapons and for using in nuclear reactors._

"Yeah, boss, I've read that a hundred times. What are you trying to get at?"

"What if Elric has a bomb?"

"What?"

"Think about it. Why do you think he got sent to Berlin to study uranium in the first place?"

"You think he's already got a bomb?"

"Yes, I do. And I think he's been unconsciously alluding to that in all of this notes. He never comes out and says it, but it's clearly on his mind. Look here."

He flipped through a couple of other pages and pointed to another passage:

_The extent of damage from exposure to a uranium compound depends on the solubility of the compound and the route of exposure. In most assessments only inhalation, ingestion, and external radiation are considered. Although absorption of some soluble compounds through the skin is possible, such dermal exposures generally are not significant. For inhalation or ingestion of soluble or moderately soluble compounds such as uranyl fluoride (UO__2__F__2__) or uranium tetrafluoride (UF__4__), the uranium enters the bloodstream and reaches the kidney and other internal organs, so that chemical toxicity is of primary importance. For inhalation of insoluble compounds such as uranium dioxide (UO__2__) and triuranium octaoxide (U__3__O__8__), the uranium is generally deposited in the lungs and can remain there for long periods of time (months or years). The main concern from exposure to these insoluble compounds is increased cancer risk from the internal exposure to radioactivity. Ingested insoluble compounds are poorly absorbed from the gastrointestinal tract and are only retained in the body for a short time, thus generally having a low toxicity._

"All this says is what kind of side effects you can get from exposure to uranium. Nothing more."

"Exactly. Look here."

_Depleted uranium is a derivative of the uranium enrichment process required to produce fuel for commercial reactors. This process is then followed by gaseous diffusion in two streams - one is enriched and the other depleted. Before a use was found for it, DU was just stored in vast amounts as a byproduct. There's a problem with these weapons, however - a serious downside never discussed and which great pains are taken to conceal. These weapons in all their forms leave in their wake an irremediable irradiated and chemically toxic landscape far more deadly than the death and destruction to the targets struck. How deadly and toxic the fallout is varies only with the amount of these weapons used._

"And here."

_The greatest damage from DU comes from the radiation residue after its use. When a DU weapon strikes a target, it penetrates deeply and aerosolizes into a fine spray which then contaminates the air, soil and water around the target area. The residue is permanent, and its microscopic and submicroscopic particles are then swept into the air from the tainted soil and are carried by winds to distant areas as a radioactive component of atmospheric dust. That dust falls indiscriminately everywhere over the area it reaches. It causes radiation contamination that affects every living thing and cannot be remediated. As mentioned above, the poisoning from the contamination causes every imaginable illness and disease from severe headaches, muscle pain and general fatigue, to major birth defects, infection, depression, cardiovascular disease, many types of cancer and brain tumors. It also causes permanent disability and death._

"Do you really think he'd be spending so much time researching the possible damage uranium could cause if there wasn't a plan to either make a bomb or use one that already exists?"

"My God…" Havoc breathed. "How did I not see this?"

"I don't know how we missed this…but we have to find Elric, and we have to find this bomb before Martigue can get his hands on it!"

That decided, Mustang and Havoc turned to locate the waitress, never seeing the busted up van that zoomed down the street past their window.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

With a final, choked sputter, the engine of the van died. Maria cursed and hit the steering wheel. Her only consolation was that she'd had enough left to get the van hidden into an alleyway before it cut out. But now they had no transport, and there was still quite a distance to go before they got to the U.S. Embassy. Looking at the semi-conscious Edward, she knew that hoofing it from here wouldn't be easy, but they clearly had no other choice. That decided, she grabbed the keys from the ignition, sliding out of the van and rushing to the passenger side where she opened the door and leaned in towards Edward, putting her arms around his waist and started trying to pull him out.

"Come on!" she grunted while she waited impatiently for him to open his eyes. "Come on! Up! Up!"

He giggled a little and squirmed slightly as she readjusted her grip around his waist.

"Hey, watch it," he slurred. "I'm really ticklish."

Maria only rolled her eyes. Damn that Martigue and his stupid truth serum.

"Come on, Edward, we have to get out of here!" she urged.

"Okay, okay," he muttered, sounding very much like a little kid reluctantly agreeing to go to school. He stumbled out of the van, and would have probably fallen on his face several times had Maria not been there to support him. She placed his right arm around her shoulders and tightened her left arm's grip around his waist, leaning a little to her right in order to keep him up.

"Oof!" she said in a low voice. "You may not look it, but you're pretty heavy!"

"I am _not_ small," he told her in a comically serious tone.

"I never said that you were."

"You implied it."

"No, I didn't. You're still high on truth serum, Edward, so you're not thinking straight."

"…now that's a thought that's gonna fester…" he said a moment later as they stumbled out into the street.

"Hey!" he said, titling his head back. "It's raining!"

"Really? I hadn't noticed," Maria replied, trying to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. Already the two of them were fully soaked.

"Oh…well it is, and it's coming down pretty hard…or maybe I'm just imagining that. I'm still pretty high."

"No, Edward, the rain's real."

"Oh, good..."

He paused in his thinking for a moment.

"Wait…did you get truth serum, too? 'Cause maybe you're imagining it, too…"

"No, Edward, they didn't give me any truth serum."

"Oh…so that erratic driving before wasn't because you were high?"

Maria sighed.

"No, it wasn't."

"So you're saying you intentionally drove like a bat out of hell?"

"…do I need to remind you who's saving your behind at this moment?"

"…point taken."

"Good, now please be quiet."

"Okay…"

A moment slipped by in welcome silence.

"Hey, did you know it's raining?" Edward piped up a moment later, to which Maria only sighed.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"How much further is it to the river?" Hohenheim asked. Eliazaar looked at the map before him.

"It's not this street, but the next," he replied. In the back seat, Alphonse looked idly outside, already bored. However, a second later, something caught his attention so completely that he had to take a double take in order to make sure he wasn't imagining things.

"Dad!" he cried. "Stop the car!"

"What?"

"Stop the car!! _Now!!"_

Hohenheim hit the brakes as hard, and the tires slid a little on the wet pavement. Alphonse didn't wait for it to completely stop, throwing open his door and jumping out headlong into the rush hour traffic beyond.

"Alphonse??" he dimly heard Hohenheim and Eliazaar shout behind him, but he didn't stop, dodging cars that honked their horns loudly at him and swerved to avoid him, and more than one angry Italian shouted at him.

"Brother!!" he shouted. "Brother!!"

Maria looked over in surprise, while Edward's head perked up and he squinted out into the street, trying to focus eyes that wouldn't focus.

"I know that voice…" he said, but he looked at Maria.

"Please tell me you hear that, too," he asked.

"Yes, I hear it."

"Oh, good."

"Brother!!"

Alphonse made it to the sidewalk, breathless as he bent over at the waist, his hands resting on his thighs. He stood up and came closer.

"Brother!!" he exclaimed again. "I can't believe we found you!! Are you okay?? How did you escape?? Did he hurt you?? What happened??"

Before he could continue to bombard Edward with his excited stream of questions, a huge, dumb smile broke out across Edward's face and he leaned towards Alphonse.

"Little brother!!" he cried happily, his speech still badly slurred. Maria let go of him so that he could slam heavily against Alphonse, nearly taking the younger Elric from his feet. He wrapped his arms around Alphonse's neck and stumbled a little more, nearly falling to his knees before Alphonse grabbed him tightly around the waist.

"I missed _you_!" he said cheerily.

For a long moment, Alphonse blinked confusedly.

"Uh…I, uh, I missed you, too," he finally said. He looked questioningly at Maria.

"He's a little high on truth serum," she said.

"Uh-huh!" Edward interjected, leaning away from Alphonse, who almost lost his grip. "And it is some gooooood stuff!!"

He leaned in conspiratorially towards his brother.

"You should try it sometime! It's _fantastic_!"

Alphonse only blinked in surprise and smiled nervously.

"Wow…he's…he's pretty high right now, isn't he?"

"Oh, yes," Maria replied. At that moment, Eliazaar and Hohenheim had woven their way through the traffic to Alphonse's side.

"Edward!" they both said. Edward looked almost surprised to see them.

"Wow!! So many people I know!!" he enthused happily. The two men stared at him in shock.

"He's high on truth serum," Alphonse told them.

"Yup!" Edward agreed readily.

"He says it's good stuff," the younger Elric continued.

"Yup!!"

The two men blinked confusedly.

"O…kay…" Eliazaar answered finally. "Why don't we get out the rain, huh?"

"Sounds good. Come on, Brother! We're going to go back to the hotel now!"

"Okie-dokie!"

"You can come, too," Alphonse added to Maria. She nodded and followed them across the street to the sound of Edward singing a badly off-key song about rain.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

TA-DA!! In which Edward finally escapes from Martigue for good!! Yay!!

(bursts out laughing) Oh, he's so high!! He needs sleep!!

BTW, my sources for Edward's research were http://www.informationclearinghouse.info/article13433.htm and http://web.ead.anl.gov/uranium/faq/health/faq28.cfm. Thank you to both of those sites!

Please review!!


	13. Chapter 13

Woot! 60 reviews!! Thank you so very much, and please continue to leave reviews!! If you haven't left one and you want to, please succumb to that desire and do so! I love getting your feedback!!

Special thanks to Mayumiligaya who left me a review with a sample of the song Ed was singing at the end of last chapter! XD Priceless!! You gave me a hearty laugh! If you want to read it, then hit my reviews!

Anyways...on to the story!

**Chapter 13**

A sliver of sunlight peeked through the slit in the curtains, cutting its way across the room slowly and stealthily until it finally landed right across Edward's closed eyes. For a moment, there were no signs of life, but then, Edward's eyebrows twitched unhappily and he opened one lazy eye to glare tiredly at the sun. With a soft grunt of disapproval, he lifted himself onto his knees in order to flop onto his left side and curl up into the large mounds of blankets surrounding him. He sighed and closed his eyes, burying his face into the pillows, until his eyes flew wide with a start and he sat up, momentary panic hitting him as he realized all at once that he had no idea where he was or how he'd gotten to his present position. He scanned the room for clues, and his golden eyes landed on a suitcase beside the door opposite him that was hauntingly familiar. However, despite how long he stared at it, he was still having trouble placing where he'd seen it before. With a growl of frustration, he put his head on his knees and ruffled his own hair. What the hell had happened to him? The door to the room opened suddenly, and he sat up, ready for a fight, but it was only Alphonse peeking in at him.

Hold on…_Alphonse??_

"Oh!" the younger Elric exclaimed in a tone caught halfway between surprise and delight. "Brother, you're awake!"

"Uh…yeah…" Edward responded, blinking confusedly. He stared at the suitcase—Alphonse's suitcase, he suddenly remembered—and then back at his brother. "Where am I?"

"You're in our hotel room…don't you remember? We brought you here last night…though you were still pretty high on the truth serum, so I guess it's not surprising you don't remember."

"Oh, yeah…" Edward suddenly agreed, the details, cloudy though they were, coming back to him. "Yeah. I remember now..."

He suddenly froze rigidly, eyes going wide in abject horror.

"Al…I didn't sing a song about the wonders of drugs…did I?"

Alphonse smiled very nervously and looked at the floor.

"…yes…yes, you did. Several times."

Edward groaned in embarrassment, hiding his face against his knees.

"Al, _please_ tell me I _didn't_ throw my pants across the room so that they landed on Eliazaar's head…can you tell me that I dreamed that up?"

"…I'm sorry, big brother, but…you did that, too…"

"Oh, dear God..."

"According to you, it was one of the high points of your musical number."

Edward groaned, humiliated, and then he sat up straight, another look of horror on his face.

"Dear God, Maria didn't see that, did she??"

Alphonse rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

"Well…"

Edward fell back with a groan and covered his bright red face with the blankets.

"I was hoping I had imagined that…" he said forlornly, thoroughly mortified.

"It's okay…I don't think she was paying attention."

Edward brought the blankets down past his eyes to peer curiously at his brother.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," the younger Elric lied. "I'll bet she'll say she never saw it happen!"

Edward thought on that a moment and sat up.

"I can live with that."

For a moment, neither brother said anything until Alphonse moved over to another suitcase resting beside his.

"I brought some of your clothes with me. I figured that no matter where we busted you out from, all of your stuff would have to be left behind, so I brought some extra stuff with me."

"Thanks."

Edward slid out from under the blankets and took the suitcase from Alphonse's hand, setting it on the bed. However, instead of grabbing for some clothing, he put his hands on his hips and glared down at his disheveled appearance.

"I need a shower," he said. "I've got to get all this Nazi filth off me."

"Need you be so dramatic?" Alphonse asked, sarcasm quite clearly in his voice. Edward threw him a non-too-happy sidelong look.

"Do I detect a bit of sarcasm in your voice, little brother?"

"Why _no_, big brother, what would _ever_ give you _that_ idea?"

Edward squinted his eyes at his brother's innocent smile.

"Just so you know, there's only room for _one_ sarcastic Elric in this world, and I'm _it_, buddy."

Alphonse just laughed.

"Okay, big brother. Whatever you say."

Edward walked towards the bathroom door, only to stop and look back at Alphonse.

"You're not allowed to grow up and get cynical," he said, pointing almost warningly, and from his tone, it was clear that on some level he meant it. Alphonse only grinned at him.

"Go take a shower," he ordered.

Edward obeyed him, but as soon as he shut the door to the bathroom, he paused to lean back against it. Even though Alphonse's _body_ was thirteen, he reminded himself, his _mind_ was actually four years older. He never complained, but Edward found himself wondering if his brother didn't ever hate such an existence. Of course, in his guilt-laden ignorance, Edward would never realize that being returned to his ten year old body and being allowed to experience puberty meant more to Alphonse than anyone could imagine. Growing up in that suit of armor for four years had made Alphonse feel like he'd missed an important part of his life, but now, he had been given the chance to experience it again. Strange, maybe, but it was important to Alphonse. He only wished he could explain that to his older brother and take some of the burdens away.

Alphonse moved out of the bedroom and down the hallway into the front rooms of their hotel suite. His father had used the money he'd taken from the butler to rent one of the most expensive rooms in the whole hotel. This particular suite had two bedrooms with two beds in each, and both of those rooms connected to their own separate bathrooms. Down the hallway from these rooms, the front room of the suite had a lavishly decorated sitting area and an ornate, mahogany table for the meals brought up by room service. As the youngest Elric moved into the room, he found his father lounging in one of the burgundy easy chairs, reading the newspaper, and Eliazaar sat with Maria at the table, eating the breakfast that had come on the cart sitting beside them. The Turkish man looked over at Alphonse as the thirteen year old entered the room.

"How is he?" he asked.

"He's awake, and right now he's taking a shower. Something about Nazi filth or some such thing."

Eliazaar grinned.

"Sounds like Edward."

"You're not kidding."

Suddenly, Eliazaar looked nervous.

"You…didn't tell him about…Haadji…did you?"

Alphonse followed the Turkish man's nervousness, imagining his brother's reaction.

"No, not yet."

The two began to sweat.

"Well, someone's going to have to tell him," Hohenheim said from behind his newspaper, and from his tone, he clearly didn't foresee the great danger looming in the near future. Alphonse and Eliazaar looked at one another, trying to decide who would be the sacrificial lamb given to the slaughter.

"Why don't you do it, Alphonse? You're his brother, and he likes you," Eliazaar said. What he really meant was _He'll be more likely to let you live._ Alphonse sighed, and his pity for poor Eliazaar won him over and he nodded.

"Alright, I'll tell him. But you owe me for this."

Maria watched the scene in confusion, and the only movement from Hohenheim was to turn to the next page in his newspaper.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

When Edward walked out of the bathroom, wrapped in one of the fluffy white hotel robes (they provided them, so he may as well not let them go to waste) and rubbing the last of the water out of his hair, he was surprised to see Alphonse sitting on the bed beside the suitcase, swinging his legs and looking about the room with an expression that tried too hard to appear innocent. The older Elric looked at the clock in slight confusion, and then studied his brother suspiciously.

"Have you been there the whole time?" he asked.

"No, no," Alphonse said, trying to sound nonchalant. "I went out and got some breakfast and then came back here for awhile."

"Uh-_huh_," Edward said, and his tone seemed to ask the unspoken _And…?_

"Yup," his younger brother replied. With no forthcoming explanation, Edward shrugged and threw the towel aside onto a chair, opening his suitcase so that he could pull out some clothing. Noticing Alphonse's stare, he paused and looked distrustfully inquiring at his brother.

"Something on your mind?" he asked, and from the way he said it, he already knew that there was indeed something on his brother's mind.

"No. No," Alphonse answered, almost too quickly, and his gaze jumped away nervously. Edward stared at him, clearly non-believing, but after a few moments of sweaty-palmed silence, he shrugged.

"Suit yourself."

Alphonse let a few more minutes slip by, until he finally couldn't stand it any longer.

"Actually, Brother…there is…_one_ thing…"

Edward looked up at him, his face displaying his sarcasm.

"Oh, really?" he asked, and it was clear that he knew something was up.

"Um…um…well…uh…"

Alphonse felt himself sweating under that tawny eyed scrutiny.

"Spit it out!!" Edward finally growled, growing increasingly impatient with his brother's stammering and stalling. "What's going on??"

"Now, Brother…before I tell you this, you have to understand that I am merely the messenger, and I must remind you that I am your brother and you love me."

"_Al…"_

"And you should know that Eliazaar was only following _your_ orders and had no knowledge whatsoever as to the consequences of his actions."

"_**Al…**__"_

"It's really not his fault. He was just doing what you asked him to, and I'm only relaying the message, and you know that you can't kill the messenger, so…"

"Alphonse Elric, tell me what's going on _right now_."

By this point, Edward had struck the 'tell-me-now-before-I-get-_really-_pissed' pose; shoulders straight and rigid, arms crossed firmly across his chest, and his feet planted shoulder width apart. All and all, his appearance and the glint in his golden eyes made him uncompromising and unshakeable. Alphonse gulped and then took a deep breath.

"Brother, do you remember that suitcase you gave to Eliazaar? You know, the one that may or may not have contained as certain 'unimportant belonging'?"

"What did he do?"

Edward's tone was hard and fast, indicating his desire for immediate appeasement. Alphonse shrank a little under his brother's wrath, and he smiled nervously.

"Well…you see…Eliazaar—under _your_ orders, Brother, remember that!—took said suitcase and gave it to someone else so that you wouldn't know where it was, just like you asked."

"_What did he do??"_

Alphonse gulped and shrank a little more.

"Um…well…he…uh…he kind of gave the suitcase to…H-Haadji…"

Immediately upon finishing the sentence, Alphonse covered his head and waited for the explosion soon to come.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Outside on the Venetian sidewalks, the natives froze in pure and complete shock when they heard the loud, bird-scattering scream echo out from one of the front rooms of the lavish hotel on the corner:

_"HE DID __**WHAT???**_"

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Eliazaar and Maria sat petrified for a long moment (while Hohenheim remained unfazed), each staring at the other, looking for some possible explanation or escape plan. Before Eliazaar could put his favored flee tactic into motion, the veritable hurricane of blonde haired, golden eyed rage flew into the room, positioning itself directly in his desired path. The storm that used to be known at Edward Elric pointed at him threateningly with one almighty metal finger, and the crazed look in those twin pools of golden lightning desired nothing less than bloodshed.

"_YOU…" _the thunder rolled. "_I'm going to kill you!!"_

That said, the demon grabbed the nearest object—a thick magazine that magically rolled itself up—and proceeded to wail away at him full force.

"_YOU GAVE IT TO __**HAADJI**__??? YOU __**IDIOT!!**__ HOW COULD YOU GIVE IT TO __**HAADJI**__???"_

Eliazaar threw his arms up in a vain defense and cowered beneath the rapidly increasing pressure of the swelling wrath.

"I can explain!!" he pleaded.

"EXPLAIN?? _EXPLAIN??_ _YOU'RE GOING TO HAVE TO DO A LOT MORE THAN __**EXPLAIN**__, BUDDY!!"_

"B-but, you told me to give it to someone else so that you wouldn't know where it was!!"

"_I told you to give it to someone __**trustworthy**__!!!!"_

"Is there anyone more trustworthy than my younger brother??"

"_A freakin' __**bum**__ off the __**street **__is more trustworthy than __**Haadji!!! Ooooooooo!!! Idiot!! Idiot!! IDIOT!!!"**_

As Edward continued to play out his rage, Hohenheim just sighed and turned to another page in his newspaper. Alphonse merely stood in a corner and smiled nervously while Maria sat in stupefied awe.

Finally, Edward backed off (though he did give the man a few more swats for good measure) and put a hand against his head.

"Oh my God!" he said, eyes staring off into space as if he were seeing some great horrific future. "The world is _doomed!!_"

He glared back down at Eliazaar.

"Do you realize what you've done?? You have _doomed_ the _entire freaking world!!_"

"Isn't it too early in the morning for you to be so dramatic?" Hohenheim suggested casually from behind his newspaper. Edward snapped a defiant stare at his father, bestowing his golden-eyed fury.

"Shut up!! This is a very dire situation!!"

"What makes you say that?" Eliazaar inquired. "What was _in_ that suitcase?"

Edward froze suddenly as he remembered that he had never told Eliazaar that the uranium bomb had been in the suitcase. Immediately, the young man's demeanor changed, and he was now the one bearing the uncomfortable smile and laugh as he scratched the back of his neck in his trademark nervous habit.

"Eheheh…" he said, sweating under Eliazaar's brown eyed gaze. "Yeah…um, about that…"

"Edward," Eliazaar stated more than asked. Looking at his frown, Edward shivered in remembrance of the alchemist killer who Eliazaar looked exactly like.

"Yes, Eliazaar?"

"What was in the suitcase?"

For a long moment, Edward said nothing, only glanced around the room, searching for an out, until finally he looked at Alphonse and smiled tensely.

"Well, Al? Should I tell him?"

"I really think you should, big brother."

"Really? I'm not so sure. I really wouldn't want him to freak out, you know?"

"Yes, but…I really think it's in your best interest to tell him."

"Hmmm…I don't know…"

"Quit acting like I can't hear you and tell me what was in the suitcase!!" Eliazaar bellowed, rising to his feet to tower over the young chemist. Edward grinned up uneasily at him, the situation all too familiar.

"You know, Eliazaar, you are a very scary man when you get angry…"

"Edward Elric…!"

"Okay, okay, calm down!"

Edward held his hands in a placating gesture and took a step back.

"Okay, what was in the suitcase…as a matter of fact…well…see, the thing is…I put the…uh…the uh…"

"_Edward_…"

"Hang on a second!!"

Edward closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Suddenly, he brought his hands together swiftly in a clap and held them together, opening his eyes.

"Inside the suitcase was the thing I have been researching for the past two months. I had to give it to you in order to keep myself safe, and I didn't tell you what was in the suitcase because I was trying to keep you and Lani safe. What I put in that suitcase is…the uranium bomb."

For a very, very long moment, no one said anything and no one moved. Finally, Eliazaar blinked very slowly, and Edward could almost hear the wheels begin to turn inside of the man's head. The man's mouth moved wordlessly for several seconds before he finally found his voice.

"You gave me…a suitcase…with a bomb in it?" he finally choked out.

"_Uranium_ bomb," Edward corrected, though he wasn't sure why.

"Oh, I'm sorry…you gave me a suitcase with a _uranium bomb_ in it??"

"Yes."

"To keep you safe?"

"In the event that I should get kidnapped, which, may I remind you, I did."

"And you told me to give it to someone else and not tell you…to keep _me_ safe?"

"Yes, in the event that I couldn't keep quiet about the bomb's location, so that I wouldn't tell anyone where it was."

"…You gave me a suitcase with a bomb in it!!!"

"Yes."

"…And I gave it to _Haadji_!!"

"Yes, you did."

"…I am an idiot."

"I can't disagree with that."

"What is wrong with Haadji?" Maria inquired. "Is he that bad?"

Edward and Eliazaar both looked over at her as if she had four heads. Then, realizing that she probably didn't know any better, they decided to explain.

"Haadji is my younger brother," Eliazaar began, to which Edward's expression grew sour.

"Yeah, and he is also the very _definition_ of the word 'moron'. In fact, that's why we _have_ the word 'moron', because no one thought '_idiot'_ was strong enough to describe him."

Maria blinked and looked at Eliazaar.

"What Edward says is unfortunately true," he agreed. Edward crossed his arms and scowled.

"Personally, I think 'moron' is too nice of a word for him…" he muttered.

"Brother!" Alphonse admonished.

"Actually, Alphonse, I have to agree with Edward," Eliazaar interrupted. "Moron is far too nice."

"But, if you knew that Haadji was…" Maria struggled for a word. Edward helped.

"Stupid? Not the brightest bulb in the socket? Not the sharpest knife in the drawer? A hazard to the entire world that should be removed?"

"No," the young woman replied, throwing the young chemist a stern look. She looked back at Eliazaar. "If you knew that Haadji wasn't the best candidate to give anything important to, why did you give him the suitcase in the first place?"

Eliazaar sighed.

"Had I known what was _in_ the suitcase, I probably wouldn't have given it to him. However, because a _certain someone_ left out some _important information_, I didn't think anything of it."

Edward grinned nervously and scratched the back of his neck again. Suddenly, they all heard Hohenheim chuckle from his chair and turned to face him.

"What's so funny, old man?" Edward inquired suspiciously. Hohenheim said nothing, just folded the paper around to a certain page and rose from his chair.

"Oh, it's nothing much. A simple thing really."

He walked over to the stand across the table from Maria, Eliazaar to his right and Edward on his left. He smirked at the young woman.

"Since we're all being truthful with one another, I think you may owe us something, miss," he told her. Everyone stared at him until he threw the newspaper down onto the table and pointed to the headlining article on the page.

"Care to explain that to us?"

Edward couldn't believe his eyes as he saw the black and white, newsprint photo of Maria and his eyes scanned the article:

**TENTH WEEK OF AMBASSADOR'S DAUGHTER'S ABDUCTION**

Authorities are still searching for Italy's former Ambassador Victor Sarangetti's eighteen year old daughter, Maria Sarangetti. Having gone missing under mysterious circumstances, with only a ransom note as an explanation, there have still been no leads to direct police to her whereabouts.

"If anyone has any information, please come forward with it," the Ambassador pleaded. He has offered a $100,000,000 reward for her safe return.

Slowly, every eye in the room focused on Maria. Her only response was to smile awkwardly.

"Whoops…I knew I was forgetting something…" she said.


	14. Chapter 14

Ha HA! I return from the world of writer's block!

(wipes forehead) This chapter wore me OUT! Hope you like it! I worked extra hard on it!

BTW, I turned 19 on the 26th of last month! Yay for me!!

Enjoy! And please review!

**Chapter 14**

Edward sputtered speechlessly for a moment, looking back and forth between the newspaper article and Maria. Finally, he stared at her for a long moment, feeling somewhat betrayed.

"You lied to me," he said in disbelief, hardly able to conceive the idea. Maria sighed.

"Yes, I did."

"Why?" he asked. "Why would you lie to me?"

The young woman locked eyes with him, brown to gold, ignoring everyone else's dumbfounded expressions and focusing in on making her point to him alone.

"Because I didn't know you," she said firmly, confident in her choice. "When you first arrived, I thought that you were a friend of Martigue's. However, the longer you stayed, the more it became clear to me that this was not the case."

She put up a hand before Edward could protest.

"I would have told you eventually," she confessed. "I was just waiting for the right opportunity."

Edward digested the information for a long, dumb-stricken moment.

"If you were a prisoner like I was, why were you working there?" he finally inquired, almost as if he were seeking holes in her theory.

"The best way to plan an escape route is to get to know your prison extremely well. All I had to do was play the 'eager prisoner' card, and Martigue allowed me to start working as a maid. The position allowed me free reign over the grounds, and also allowed me to study the villa's strengths and weaknesses from top to bottom. In a few short weeks, I knew that place better than the back of my hand."

There was something like admiration in Edward's eyes after hearing this, and he awarded Maria a stupefied grin.

"I still can't believe that you lied to me."

Maria smirked at him.

"It was a bad lie, too, but you fell for it."

"…so you really are the Ambassador's daughter?"

"_Former_ Ambassador and yes."

Edward nodded for a moment, stepping away to pace.

"Well, then…I guess the most important thing is to get you back to your dad as soon as we can," he said.

At that, Maria's eyes went wide in something akin to alarm.

"No!" she protested, rising from her seat. Everyone stared at her in surprise.

"No?" Hohenheim repeated. "Why not?"

"Don't you want to see your dad again?" Alphonse put in. Maria shook her head.

"It's not that I don't want to see him, and I really hate having to worry him anymore, but…I'm more useful here!"

"No way."

She looked at Edward in surprise.

"What do you mean?" she asked him.

"I mean that we're getting you back to your dad as soon as possible. This is our responsibility, and you have nothing to do with this. I'm not going to put you in any unnecessary danger."

Maria glared at him defiantly.

"I'm not a helpless woman, Edward Elric. I can take care of myself."

"It doesn't matter. You're still going back to your father."

Before he could leave the room, Maria darted forward and blocked his path.

"Take me back all you like," she said, body rigid with her determination. "I'll only run away and follow you."

Edward stared hard at her.

"You'd better not!"

"Don't think that I won't!"

"Miss Sarangetti—"

"Oh! Oh, I see! You find out my real identity and decide that I'm suddenly a fragile _doll_ made of _glass_!"

Edward stared at her in bewilderment, shocked by the vehemence in her tone. She crossed her arms and glowered.

"You know what you are, _Mr. Elric_? You're nothing but a _pompous ass_ who has gotten the idea in his _thick head_ that he has to look out for every 'helpless woman' who comes along his path!!"

At that, Edward lost his temper.

"That is _not_ true, and_ you_ know it as well as_ I_ do! Look, _sweetheart_, this isn't fun and games! We're going up against the _Nazis_, and they play for keeps!! So, you're _not_ coming with us and _that_ is_ final_!!"

"Hold on a second," Alphonse spoke up, stepping between the two combatants. "Look, obviously, you're both a little worked up right now, but let's stop this before somebody says something they'll regret later, okay?"

The two huffed and crossed their arms, looking in different directions, and Alphonse looked over at the older Elric.

"Brother, Maria knows Venice better than any of us. She's been living here her whole life. She can help us get out of the country undetected, and might even be able to get us the help we need from authorities."

Edward glanced at him from the corners of his eyes, giving him an indication that he had heard. Alphonse turned to Maria.

"Maria, Brother isn't trying to treat you as a fragile, frail woman. He's just trying to make sure that you're safe. The Nazis are some bad people, and he just doesn't want you to get hurt. He's the same way with me all the time, except that I've had a lot of chances to prove that he can depend on me. It's not that he's trying to be mean, it's just that…well…Brother's a bit of a worrier."

"I am not," Edward grumbled, to which Alphonse only smirked and rolled his eyes.

"Okay?" he continued, looking back and forth between the two for a sign of confirmation. The two looked at one another and shrugged noncommittally. Alphonse rolled his eyes again.

"Okay," he said, walking away.

"There's another reason why Maria needs to come with us, even beyond Venice," Hohenheim spoke up, casually shifting through the other sections of the newspaper lying on the table. At that, both eighteen year olds looked over at him, shock on Edward's face, dawning hope on Maria's.

"Why's that?" Edward snapped. His father looked up at him over the rim of his glasses and smiled, shifting his glance to bestow the smile on Maria.

"Because, this young lady now knows who currently has the uranium bomb. We shouldn't put her at risk of getting caught by the Nazis again and forced to reveal that information, now should we?"

For a moment, Edward struggled extremely hard to find someway to counter that logic, but after awhile, he finally gave up. He looked sulkily at Maria who had adopted a rather superior stance as she looked back at him.

"Fine!" he huffed, throwing up his hands and walking away. "You can come with us! Just don't whine later and expect me to come rescue you when you get into a tight spot!"

"Oh, I won't," she answered, and he just muttered something inaudibly before disappearing into the bedroom to get dressed.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

When he stepped back out into the main room a few minutes later, everyone had to take a double take, for the young man who stepped out of the room was not the same young man who had gone into the room.

"Edward?" Maria inquired, studying him up and down. "What…what are you doing?"

Edward grinned.

"I'm getting ready to do some information gathering," he answered. For a moment, the girl just blinked, taking in the whole scene.

Edward's clothing possessed dark, somber choices in color, ranging from the dark brown of his pants and coat to the light blue of the shirt he wore under his vest. He wore a pair of workman's gloves on his hands, two dingy brown leather items that appeared to be too big. In fact, all his clothing looked a little too big for him, giving him the appearance of a poor, young man who was barely making enough to get by. Somehow or another, he'd smudged his face to make himself look dirty, but even then, all of these things didn't fully cause the shock everyone felt. What was really throwing them all off was the fact that Edward no longer had long golden blonde hair, but instead had messy, short cropped red hair. It took them all a moment to realize that he was wearing a wig, and another to realize that the cap on his head was the only thing holding the wig down. Edward grinned lopsidedly at them for a long moment, giving them the full effect of a young man struggling to make it in his blue-collared world.

"Where in the world did you get all of this stuff?" Maria asked, coming over and studying everything closer.

"I never took it out of the suitcase Al brought. Lucky, huh?" he asked, throwing Alphonse a wink. The youngest Elric smirked and shook his head.

"Never thought I'd see _that_ again," he said.

"What is this from?" Maria continued, fully intrigued.

"A little while back, I did a small job for a good friend," Edward answered.

"What kind of job would you have to wear a costume for?"

"A movie job," Alphonse answered. Edward shot him a look, and Maria looked up at the older Elric in surprise.

"You were in a movie?"

"It was a very unimportant role," he tried to explain, trying to turn the conversation away from this suddenly very interesting part of his life.

"It was a speaking part," Alphonse continued, and since he was more forthcoming with the information she wanted to know, Maria turned to him. However, the two brothers began to bicker about the facts instead of talking to her.

"I had three lines!" Edward protested.

"They were good ones," Alphonse replied calmly.

"It was just a stupid role!"

"You were a cab driver."

"A very unimportant cab driver you never see again!!"

"You were the only cab driver with a speaking part."

"I didn't do anything! I asked them where they wanted to go and drove the cab!"

"You warned them not to go where they were going. Said it was too dangerous. You helped move the plot along."

Maria couldn't help but giggle a little at the thought of Edward doing any form of acting, and there was quite a bit of mirth dancing in Alphonse's honey brown eyes.

"The only reason Brother got a speaking part was because he'd helped Fritz out a few times with another issue."

Edward rolled his eyes.

"It's not that big of a deal, okay? It was a stupid cab driver part, and that was it!!"

"Fritz wants him to come do more films," Alphonse told Maria behind his hand, as if to hide the information from Edward. "He says that Brother's a natural born star with a face that deserves to be onscreen."

Edward stomped his boot into the ground, face turning a slight red color.

"Shut up!! He did not!!"

"Okay, Brother, if you say so," Alphonse replied, though his expression clearly said differently. Edward didn't respond, only stormed off, the sound of Maria and Alphonse's laughter at his back.

"Wait, Fritz?" Maria said suddenly, pieces connecting. "As in Fritz Lang, the famous movie director?"

"Yup!" Alphonse replied.

"You're on first name basis with Fritz Lang??"

"Yeah. He's a really nice guy, despite all the rumors."

That made Maria's head spin.

"Wow…you two lead very interesting lives, don't you?"

Alphonse smiled cryptically.

"You don't know the half of it," he told her, and he walked away to go to his brother's side.

"Okay, Al, here's the plan," Edward said, smoothing out the map on the table before him.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

CIA Agent Riza Hawkeye sat nursing her martini for a while, frustrated by the lack of leads on the Elric case and by the Italian policing force in general. She and her group had agreed to team up with them to find Elric, considering that the Italian police knew their city better than anyone, but so far Hawkeye had seen them do anything other than act like bumbling fools. They hadn't made any progress, and Hawkeye was hoping that something would break soon. That's why she'd ended up in this seedy bar to begin with, in the hopes that someone around knew something and she'd be able to pick up on it. Thusly, even though to all appearances she seemed lost in her own thoughts, she was actually keeping her ears trained on the conversations around her.

It was in this fashion that she became aware of the young man walking into the bar. His newsboy cap was pulled low over his slightly smudged face, barely able to control his unruly red hair. He was wearing working attire, and looked as if he had just come from his job. There was an easy smile on his face, and two fiercely golden eyes boldly studied his environment from under the brim of his cap. He sauntered easily over to the bar and sat down on the stool beside Hawkeye, giving her a coy grin before turning to the bartender. The man paused in his glass cleaning long enough to put his hands on his hips and stare down at the young man suspiciously.

"I think you're a bit young for any alcohol, signore," he said, to which the young man grinned boyishly.

"Alright, mate," he said, voice heavily laced with a thick Cockney accent. He put his hands up in a placating gesture. "Y'caught me."

The bartender smirked and nodded.

"How about some water?" he asked.

"Sounds good, mate. I'll take it."

The bartender moved away, never noticing the covert smile spreading across Hawkeye's face.

The young man seemed to notice it, because he grinned at her impishly.

"Nice weather we're 'aving, don't y'think?"

"Sure," she answered, sipping at her drink quietly. She didn't look over at him, only continued to smirk casually.

"So, what's a pretty lady like you doin' in a place like this?"

"I'm looking for someone."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes."

"Who is 'e? A boyfriend or somethin'?"

Hawkeye smirked.

"No."

"A relative, then?"

"No, he's not a relative."

"A friend?"

"Not exactly."

"Does 'e 'ave _any_ relation t'you?"

"No."

"…Then why are y'searchin' for 'im?"

"It's my job. My boss told me I had to find him."

Something like comprehension flitted through the young man's golden eyes—eyes far too intelligent for someone his age or for the class he was trying to portray. Hawkeye knew something was up, and knew, too, that, besides the hair color and clothing, this young man sitting beside her fit Elric's description too neatly to be a coincidence. She decided to test him.

"So, tell me something," she said, turning on her stool to face him while she idly stirred her martini with the olive stick. "What's a British kid doing in Italy?"

"Oh, well, it's a terribly borin' story, but basically I thought I wanted t'be a priest. Then I found out that you 'ave t'take a vow of celibacy."

He leaned towards her conspiratorially, putting a hand against the side of his face, as if to let her in on the secret no one else should know.

"B'tween you an' me…I jus' couldn't give up the ladies," he continued, winking at her.

Oh, this kid is good, Hawkeye thought to herself, smiling at him.

"Really...but, if you were going to be a priest at the Vatican in Rome, why are you in Venice?"

"I put in port 'ere, and that's when I ran out of money. So, I've been stuck workin' 'ere ever since, tryin' to save up some money to get myself 'ome."

"Why can't you just wire your parents for the money?"

"'Cause my old man didn't approve of me becomin' a priest. Said 'e'd disown me before 'e'd watch me kill off 'is bloodline. They'd never send me the money, and so…'ere I am!"

Oh, yeah. He was good. Too good. Hawkeye knew she could catch him.

"What did you say your name was again?" she asked him nonchalantly.

"Charles Merriman. Everyone just calls me Charlie."

"Really," she said, and it was evident from her tone that she didn't believe him. "That's interesting."

"Why do y'say that?"

"Oh…no reason…it's just…"

Hawkeye stared him dead in the eyes.

"It's just that I could have pegged you for an Edward."

The words were spelled out on her face: _I know who you really are._

For a moment, Edward just sat frozen on his stool, weighing his options. He could try to stay in character and laugh it off, but he'd paused for too long and it would be obvious he was trying to cover something up. He could make a break for it, but then he would look extremely guilty, like he knew something that he shouldn't and he didn't want the CIA agent to find out. Thusly, did he sit staring her in the eyes, quashed firmly between the proverbial rock and hard place. For a long, long moment, neither he nor the woman moved but sat staring at one another, daring the other to be the first to twitch and present the other with a desired opening. Suddenly, they moved as one, Edward jumping up from his stool and backing away at the same time Hawkeye made a grab for his wrist. She came away with nothing but glove as his hand slid free of the leather item. For a moment, Hawkeye stared, because she was almost positive that she caught a flash of metal covering his now bare hand. A metal hand? She had to be imagining it. Meanwhile, the commotion they'd suddenly stirred up put the other three CIA agents in the bar on alert. Falman approached from directly behind the young man, making a grab for him, but Edward would not be so easily caught. The only thing Falman had to show for his effort as the youth ducked low and rolled away was the red haired wig and newsboy cap. Hawkeye wheeled about to face the young man as he jumped to his feet, golden blonde hair tumbling freely about his shoulders. They stared at each other for yet another moment, Hawkeye confirming with her own two eyes that, yes, the young man standing before her in the slightly oversized clothing, with loose blonde hair and golden eyes was in fact Edward Elric, the kid she had been searching for these past few weeks. Now, she had him within reach, and she aimed to keep it that way. She gestured to the other two CIA agents, and they began to close in on the youth, but he would not be deterred, turning and bolting headlong out the front door of the bar.

"After him!" Hawkeye shouted, hand on her pistol as she gave chase, her companions falling in a step behind her.

Out on the sidewalk, Edward paused only long enough to sound the shrill bird-whistle, putting Alphonse, who sat at a small table in the outdoor café across the way, on high alert. The younger Elric jumped to his feet and stared, and Edward gestured wildly, right arm cycling in an exaggerated, circular motion, signaling to his brother that he should start running. Hoping that the message had gotten through, and throwing one slightly panicked look over his shoulder at the CIA agents flooding into the sunlight, Edward darted across the Venetian road, narrowly avoiding being hit by cab after cab. At one point, he had to roll across the hood of a taxi that couldn't stop fast enough in order to avoid getting his leg broken. The driver honked his horn and shouted angrily, but Edward just ignored him, dropping into a dead run the minute his feet touched ground again. He raced down the sidewalk and managed to catch up to Alphonse at the corner.

"Brother? What's going on? What happened?" the younger Elric inquired as he fell into step beside his brother.

"CIA! They found me!"

"CIA? Aren't they the good guys? Why are we running from them?"

"Because as soon as they catch me, their going to put me on the first flight straight back to Washington! I've gotta find that bomb before then!"

"But, couldn't they help you?"

"Help me? They don't want to help me! Their idea of helping me is putting me in custody and expecting me to sit pretty while they screw everything up! But, we'll argue about this later!! For now, just run!!"

Alphonse didn't quite understand his brother's reluctance to join with the authorities, but he equated it up to Edward's general stubbornness.

The two wound their way through the alleyways, lengthening the distance between them and the pursuit. Edward grinned, thinking they were home free, until he happened to round the next corner and found himself facing a group of twenty Nazis. The men were idly milling about, taking a break from their search, when one happened to look up and spot the two young men standing in the opening of their alleyway.

"There he is!!" he shouted in his native tongue, putting all of the others on alert as he pointed.

"Aw, crap!" Edward said, turning around and high-tailing it out of there. The Nazis gave chase immediately, and now they had two groups of pursuers to contend with.

"Great, just great!" Edward griped. "Could this day get any worse?"

"According to Murphy, yes, yes it can!" Alphonse answered. "Come on!"

Edward let his brother lead, trusting that Alphonse had some idea as to where he was going. The Nazis, meanwhile, began to close the distance between them.

The CIA had stopped pursuit when the Nazis had appeared, pulling back under Hawkeye's orders.

"Circle around the other way! They're probably going to head for the river! We'll cut them off when they come back to the docks!"

Shouting their confirmation of her orders, the Americans turned and back-tracked the other direction.

Al led the way through a few more alley turns and side streets until he made his way to the riverside docks. There, his honey brown eyes alighted on a small motorboat being tied to the dock by an old man. The boy headed for it, his brother following, and the two startled the old man as they darted past. Alphonse jumped behind the wheel of the ship, while Edward—saying a quick, "Sorry!" as he dashed past—grabbed the rope from the man's hands and jumped aboard, yanking the pull cord on the motor and bringing the small, rickety vessel to life. Alphonse began to guide the vessel away from the dock as fast as he dared, but not fast enough, for one of the pursuing Nazis managed to jump on to the tail end of the boat. Edward, who had just made his way up to the front beside Alphonse, turned and stared back at the man in irritated disbelief.

"Oh, you have _got _to be kidding me!!" he said. A second later, he swung his legs over the top of his seat and lifted his body so that he could slide down the wooden top of the boat with a loud, nails-on-chalkboard squeak in order to deal with the tagalong.

Back at the docks, the old man only stood scratching his head, watching with mild curiosity as the remaining Nazis piled into two other unmanned boats, firing up their engines and taking off after the boys. The old man was rather perturbed by the loss of his boat, but the more he thought about it, the more this became a boon. That boat was too old anyway. It wouldn't last much longer as it was, and therefore, it was about time for him to get a new one. That thought brightened his day considerably. With a little hum and a slight spring in his step, the man walked down the docks to head for home. At least now he could give the wife a good reason for why they had to buy a new boat.

Back on the water, the three boats zoomed along the bay, the Elrics in the lead and the Nazis trying their best to shoot them out of the water. Alphonse expertly turned the wheel, dodging most, if not all, of the hits. However, such erratic steering was making Edward's life a little difficult as he traded blows with his opponent, causing him to wobble and almost lose his footing several times. He only comfort was that it was the same for the Nazi he was facing. Edward threw a left hook, but the man blocked it, so he jabbed with his right. That was blocked, too. Edward gritted his teeth, getting ready to launch a second swing with his left hand, when Alphonse jerked the wheel again, causing him to almost fall headlong into the water. Edward flailed his arms wildly in circles, desperately trying to keep his balance, and only succeeded in causing himself to tumble onto his rear against the boat. The Nazi, having found his sea legs quicker than the young chemist, pressed the advantage, drawing a six inch stiletto knife from its concealed sheath in his sleeve and plunging it point first at Edward's unprotected chest. Desperately, Edward's hands flew up and caught the man's wrists, somehow managing to hold the knife at bay mere millimeters from his throat. The muscles in his left arm bulged and rippled under the strain, and he could hear some of the gears in his right arms grinding and whining as he slowly started pushing the knife back a few more inches. However, the Nazi had not only the advantage of size, but also that of position, using his body weight as a force to inch the knife closer. Edward was a lot stronger than he looked, though, and that fact the man was beginning to appreciate as they found their struggle coming to a stalemate.

Up in the front seat, Alphonse kept an eye on the two flanking boats, waiting for any sign of an approaching attack. In the boat to his left, one of the Nazis had replaced the clip in his MP40 submachine gun, and he watched as the man began to take aim. Before the man could get a clear shot, Alphonse yanked the wheel hard left, causing the little rickety craft to teeter dangerously in that direction as it zoomed out of range. The little boat was almost swamped by its own spray, but the sudden movement surprised the Nazi fighting Edward, allowing the older Elric to shift the balance a few more inches in his favor and push the knife further away. So busy was he in keeping that weapon away from his throat that he didn't heard the sudden, loud crack, nor did he see Alphonse's eyes grow wide in horror as the steering wheel of the boat and its entire steering column came free from the wood of the helm. Alphonse lifted the item up and stared with wide-eyed shock at the twisted, rusted end of the column.

"Brother, we have a problem!!" he called, thoroughly distressed.

"Not now, Alphonse!!" Edward replied, gritting his teeth and struggling with his assailant.

"But Brother, it's really important!!"

"_Kinda_ _in the middle of something right now_!!"

"But, Brother—!!"

"_Hang on a second!!"_

Edward ground his teeth and glared up at the Nazi above him.

"You're really starting to annoy me!!" he said, and in one swift motion he pushed the man's hands to his right and let go, causing the stiletto to become wedged deeply into the boat's thick wood. In the next motion, the eighteen year old curled up his left leg, put his foot against the man's chest, and shoved. The man went flying off the back of the boat into the water beyond. That threat neutralized, Edward turned around and looked at Alphonse.

"_What_??" he demanded. Any anger he might have felt was quickly diffused at the sight of a nervously laughing Alphonse holding the steering wheel and column in one hand as he sat facing completely backwards from the helm.

"What did you do??" Edward crowed, dismayed.

"I didn't do anything!! It just broke off by itself!!"

"Oh man!! This is just great!! We can't even steer the boat now!! Terrific!!"

"Brother, it gets worse…"

"What?? What could _possibly_ be worse than being stranded on a river with no steering??"

Alphonse moved to the side a little and pointed over his shoulder with his thumb.

"The fact that we're stranded on a river with no steering and we're careening straight for that propeller?"

Edward stared over the boy's shoulder in fascinated horror at the spinning propeller of the large ship looming dead ahead.

"ABANDON SHIP!!" he yelled at the top of his lungs, and both Elrics dove straight over the sides of the craft into the churning waters beyond, making it out only seconds before their little boat smashed into the propeller and exploded into a million wooden fragments. They both surfaced—Edward never more thankful for his new, lightweight automail—and stared at the smoke for a long moment, lightly treading water.

Edward cast a sidelong look at his brother.

"Next time, _I_ drive," he said, and then he started swimming for a nearby dock.

"Awww…" Alphonse protested as he followed.

The dock they reached a few moments later turned out to be a riverside café, and its tables were crowded with diamond-and-pearl studded women with their silk-tie-wearing husbands. The natives stirred with startled shouts and screams as the two sopping young men pulled themselves up onto the wooden planking. Edward, the first to get to his feet, shook his head, water droplets flying from the tips of his long bangs, and he pushed back his soaked hair, looking around. He studied the shocked, disgusted, and distraught expressions surrounding him and smiled.

"Ah, Venice," he said with a sigh. He then turned to help his brother get up onto the dock. As soon as the younger Elric was on his feet, the two motorboats bearing their Nazi pursuers pulled up alongside the dock and several of the men jumped out, brandishing their MP40s and yelling orders at each other in their native tongue. One shouted at the young men, commanding them to stay where they were and not move. Edward and Alphonse said nothing, only turned and ran, weaving lightly through the tables and around the people. Angered, the Germans were not so polite, shoving people aside and overturning chairs and tables.

"This way!" Alphonse called when they approached the alleys, and he led the way to the left, making his way back to the main streets.

It was around the last bend that the brothers ran into trouble, for there waited more Nazis, surrounding the opening in a semicircle formation. As soon as the two targets came into sight, several of the men started forward towards them. Without a word to one another, the two boys dropped low, ducking the initial swings of their opponents and launching twin knockout punches. Edward lost track of Alphonse in the ensuing melee, but he trusted his brother's skills and turned his mind fully to his own battles. He found himself facing off against four men who surrounded him in a circle. One tried to kick his legs out from under him, but Edward jumped over the sweeping limb, clearing it and using the momentum to flip onto his hands. As he brought his legs up over his head, he smashed the heel of his left foot into the chin of the man directly behind him, and then he slammed both heels into the forehead of the man directly before him. He quickly found his feet again, and he spun on his right foot, sweeping his left across towards the chest of the man now on his left. His attack was blocked, but Edward was not deterred, bringing his right leg up into a forward snap kick that caught the man right in the stomach, doubling him over. Edward chopped down on the man's neck with the flat of his metal hand, and the German dropped like a ton of bricks to the pavement, making no movements whatsoever to rise and retaliate. As Edward turned to face off against the last man, he suddenly heard Alphonse cry out in distress, and he whipped around, locating his brother in the sudden influx of Germans. The thirteen year old was firmly caught in the arms of two Nazis, who were dragging him backwards.

"Brother!! Help!!" he cried, struggling valiantly but failing to break free from his captors.

"Al!!" Edward shouted, but before he could start that way, the man at his back launched a kick at the back of his right knee. Edward cried out in pain as that leg buckled, and he growled angrily as he turned and rose back up, swinging his right fist in an ferocious uppercut to the man's chin, knocking him out. He then started back towards his brother, who was now fighting to stay out of the black limousine his abductors were trying to shove him into, putting his feet against the sides of the door and holding steady while he wriggling and squirmed wildly to get free.

"Brother!!" he kept shouting.

"Alphonse!! Hang on!!"

Edward slugged his way through several more Nazis until he suddenly found himself face to face with Envy. The older man grinned wickedly at him, and Edward knew who had masterminded this plan. Before he could start forward towards the man, Alphonse was successfully forced into the black limo, and the vehicle drove away as fast as it could go with a screech of the tires.

"Alphonse!!" Edward screamed, and then he glared at Envy.

"You bastard!!" he shouted, and he started to leap for the man, but suddenly, an thickly muscled arm snaked around his slender waist and yanked him back, holding him in an iron grip as he squawked in protest and struggled. He found himself being lifted clear off the ground and carried in the opposite direction from his desired goal.

"_No!!"_ he protested vehemently, writhing wildly and kicking his legs futilely. "Put me _down_, dammit!!"

"Go!" he heard someone shout, and suddenly there were CIA agents flooding into the street from all directions, firing rapidly and with deadly accuracy at the Nazis, who retreated. Despite his best efforts to make everything otherwise, Edward was carried to an Italian police cruiser, into which he was promptly thrown and shut inside. As soon as he got his bearings, he flew back to door of the vehicle, throwing himself against the window and banging on it.

"_No!!"_ he shouted. "_Bastard!! Let me out of here!!"_

"Get him to the Embassy!!" the CIA agent who had put him in the car said to the driver and his partner. "Now!"

With a sharp affirmation, the driver threw the vehicle into drive and put the pedal practically to the floor. Edward flew to the back window of the cruiser as the car lurched forward and pounded futilely on the glass.

"Damn you!!" he shouted. "Damn you!!"

His behavior grew rapidly more rabid and frenzied the further he was taken away from his brother. They had Alphonse! He had to get back there and track down that limousine!! Edward started flailing around in the backseat, going absolutely wild in the small confined space. He dove back to the door, only to remember that police cruisers didn't have door handles on the inside of the back door.

"_Goddammit, you bastards!! Let me the hell out of here!!_" he demanded furiously, smacking the heel of his left hand against the glass repeatedly.

"Signore, please," the driver began in heavily accented English. He glanced up pleadingly in the rearview mirror. "You must calm down."

"_I will __**not**__ calm down until you turn this damn car around and go back!!"_

"Signore, the safest place for you right now is in protective custody at the Embassy."

"_Screw you!! Those Nazi bastards have my __**brother**__!! Let me __**out!!**__"_

He pounded uselessly on the door, screaming _"Let me out!"_ over and over a few more times before leaning back in the seat and kicking at it, eking out a small scream of frustration and desperation from between tightly clenched teeth. In the back of his mind, he dimly overheard the two police officers frantically exchanging words in their native tongue, but the bigger part of his mind wasn't listening. The Nazis had Alphonse!! They were going to use him against Edward!! That thought heated Edward's anger to new levels of incensed rage, and he began to go wild again, kicking and pounding against the door.

"_Let me out!! They have my brother!! __**They have my brother**__!!"_

"Signore, _please_," the driver urged again, but Edward only threw himself at the metal cage separating him from the two officers.

"_Let me out of here __**now**__!!"_

"I'm sorry, signore, but that is not going to happen. Please calm down."

Edward rattled the cage, half mad with fury.

"_**NOW, goddammit!!**__"_

Before the driver could speak up again, his partner said something sharply in Italian, and he whipped around to face Edward, bringing a strange looking pistol up level with Edward's chest and firing just as the driver shouted his protest.

Edward let out a small squeak of pain, eyes going wide before they rolled back in his head and he tumbled down to lie motionless in the back of the cruiser.


	15. Chapter 15

Mou!! I'm so sorry that this is so late! I hope you all didn't think I'd abandoned the story!! It's just that sometimes, I can really write a story, and then other times…the words just seem to fail me, and it takes me awhile to fish them out of my brain. Anyway, I'm sure you don't want to hear my excuses, but you want to read what's happening to poor Edward! Well, read on, good people! Read on!

Please review!

**Chapter 15**

When Edward came to, the police vehicle was rolling down the long drive towards the US Embassy building. Shaking off his stupor, Edward rose up to a sitting position so that he could stare out the window. His muscles whined from the stiffness produced from lying at a weird angle for so long, but he ignored them, focusing on the more important matter at hand.

"Are you alright, signore?" asked the driver, having seen movement in his rearview mirror.

"Yeah, sure," he said, automatically, eyes never leaving the steadily approaching building. Finally, he turned away to look at the back of the driver's head.

"So what happens now?"

"I don't know, signore. My orders were to bring you to the Embassy and into CIA custody."

Edward sighed and nodded.

"I apologize on behalf of my partner," the man continued almost tremulously. "He can be a bit too eager to use the tranquilizer gun."

"It's okay," Edward assured him, giving a half-heartedly lopsided grin. "I kinda needed that nap."

Edward could see the relieved smile in the driver's eyes as the man looked back at him through the rearview mirror. By this time, the car had pulled up alongside of the Embassy steps, and several men, their black bulletproof vests emblazoned with the golden CIA insignia, came galloping down the steps. One opened the back door of the cruiser while two more reached in to grab Edward and pull him out, something, of course, Edward protested profusely. He got out of the vehicle and shoved all of the hands away, promptly straightening his clothing.

"I can walk by myself, thanks!" he snapped angrily, moving past them up the steps. He kicked himself the whole way up for not making a break for it, but being surrounded by highly trained CIA agents on the grounds of one of the most heavily guarded buildings in Italy had a tendency to temper the resolves of many otherwise stalwart men.

Edward found himself surrounded on all sides as he continued to climb, and he sighed tiredly, letting the men herd him into the building and down one of the left hand hallways into a small room. He could tell right away that this room was often used for interrogating criminals, seeing as how the room had one table with two chairs facing each other and a one way window.

"Have a seat," said a brown haired man whose vest proclaimed him as Officer Lymon. "Someone will be in shortly."

"Great," Edward replied, grumpily plopping into the chair. "So will I have front row seats to the Good Cop/Bad Cop show?"

The man frowned.

"It's nothing like that. We just want to ask a few questions."

"Fantastic."

The man's frown deepened and he left. With a heavy sigh, Edward slouched down in his seat, hands wedged deeply into his pockets and feet stretched out wide. His scowl looked very much akin to the expression a grade-schooler would have after being caught cheating and sent to the principal's office. He couldn't deny that he felt somewhat like that grade-schooler in some way, having the same desire to simply get everything over and done with so that he could leave.

After a few minutes, the CIA agent who looked like Lieutenant Hawkeye entered the room.

"Why, hello, Mr. Merriman," she said as she came in, setting down some folders and notepads. The sarcasm in her voice wasn't lost on Edward. "It's so good to see you again. Still working to pay for that ticket home to jolly old England?"

Edward glared at her. This woman was nothing like Lieutenant Hawkeye.

"Cute," he said. "Did they have to teach you all these great people skills in CIA school, or were you born with all this natural charm?"

Hawkeye smiled and then leaned forward a bit.

"Did you really think the disguise was going to work?"

"What gave me away?"

"Your eyes."

Edward stared curiously, and the woman stared right back.

"They're a pretty unique color…and they hold far more intelligence than a blue-collar, working class kid's eyes should."

"I'll try to look dumber next time."

Hawkeye sifted through some of the papers in her folders.

"Hopefully there won't be a next time."

Edward looked at her suspiciously.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I had one of my people purchase a one way ticket back to Washington for you."

She looked up again, pinning him with her amber eyes.

"Now that I've found you, it's my job to make sure that you make that flight."

Edward glared.

"I'm not getting on that plane."

"I beg to differ."

"You can't make me."

Hawkeye put the folders down and leaned on her palms on the table, looking at Edward sternly.

"Are you really going to do this?"

"Do what?"

"Are you really going to be a child about this, dragging your feet and throwing temper-tantrums the whole way?"

"If it works, then yes."

It was the woman's turn to glare.

"Don't be ridiculous."

"If you really think I'm going to get on a plane without my brother, than you are sadly mistaken, lady!"

"_We_ will find your brother for you, okay? That's our job."

"The _hell_ it is!! Your 'job' was to find me or find the uranium bomb. You could care less about my brother!!"

Hawkeye's glare narrowed dangerously.

"You want to know the truth, kid?" she said.

"Oh, sure. Enlighten me, please."

"The truth is…you're absolutely right."

Edward froze.

"I couldn't give a shit about you or your brother. I just want to find that uranium bomb so that we can neutralize the threat of the Nazis using it against us in warfare. However, the fastest way to find the bomb was to find you, and I've already done that. Finding your brother is low on my priority list at the moment."

"Well, now you're doubly screwed."

Hawkeye glowered.

"What do you mean by that?"

Edward looked up, a mirthless grin on his face.

"Well, first off, I don't have a flippin' clue where the uranium bomb is, and secondly, now that you've pissed me off, I'm _really_ in no mood to help you."

"What do you _mean_ you don't know where the uranium bomb is?" the woman demanded, crossing her arms. Edward merely grinned and leaned back in his seat again, crossing his own arms.

"Oh, did I say that? Funny, I can't remember saying anything to that effect."

Hawkeye slammed her hands onto the table again.

"Listen, _kiddo_, one way or another you're getting on that plane, even if I have to hogtie you and drag you there myself!"

Edward smirked, and looked away, a very smug expression on his face that only served to further infuriate the woman.

"I mean it! Now, quit playing games and tell me where to find the bomb!"

"I already told you! I don't know!"

She slammed a fist into the table.

"Of course you do! You're the one researching the damn thing, aren't you? Stop playing games and tell me!"

"Let me find my brother and I'll _think _about it."

"Finding your brother is my job! Telling me where to find the bomb is yours!"

"For the third time in this conversation, _I. Don't. Know._"

She growled, sure that he was jerking her around, and grabbed hold of one of his arms, dragging him from his seat and out of the room. Edward was mildly surprised at the woman's strength, though he knew he could have easily broken her grip if he had wanted to. She ushered him down the hall a little ways from the first room he'd entered, and roughly shoved him into another room. It was a small office with a single desk and chair as its only furniture, and it had no windows on any of the walls and only one door. Edward's eyes widened as he suddenly realized the woman's intent, and he wheeled around, trying to grab for the door, but it shut too quickly with a definitive slam. A second later, he perceived the clicking of the lock on the outside of the door, and he felt his rage uncoil again.

"Hey!!" he shouted, banging on the door and twisting the handle. Through the foggy cut of the glass, he could vaguely see Hawkeye's outline.

"You've got two hours until your plane leaves, kid. I just want to make sure that you don't try to pull anymore Houdini acts before then."

"Ha!" Edward retorted. "You think this door is going to stop me? You're stupider than I thought!"

He jumped back and grabbed the chair, throwing it with all his might. He watched in satisfaction as it collided with the glass.

And bounced off.

Edward's jaw practically hit the floor. Hawkeye tapped on the glass from the other side.

"Oh, did I forget to mention that this is disaster-proof glass?"

If Edward's eyes got any bigger, they'd fall right out of his sockets.

"Looks like I'm not as stupid as you thought."

Hawkeye turned to the two men on either side of the door.

"No one goes in or out of this room without my knowledge, you got it?"

"Yes, ma'am," they both replied. Hawkeye turned back to the door.

"See you in two hours, kid!" she called, and then she moved down the hallway. Edward, meanwhile, flew against the door, jiggling the handle and pounding on the door.

"Hey!! Wait a second!! You can't keep me in here!! Let me out!!"

He kicked the door and even punched the glass with his right hand, hoping that the metal could break it, but it was all in vain. Edward kicked the door again and stepped back, flipping his loose hair over his shoulder.

"Dammit, I'm getting _real_ tired of this," he muttered, before setting himself and running towards the door. He slammed his right shoulder against it, but it held, so he backed up and rammed it again. It still held.

"Good grief! What the hell is this thing made of?? Oak??"

He glared at the door in fierce defiance.

"I'm getting out of here," he said, as if to scare the wood into opening, and then he threw himself against the portal again.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"So you managed to get a hold of him," Mustang said, idly stirring his coffee. He acted as if it all mattered little to him.

"Yes, I did," Hawkeye replied, taking a sip of hers and ignoring the banging noises coming from down the hall. "With no help from any suits, may I add."

Mustang smirked.

"He did, however, keep telling me that he didn't know where the uranium bomb was," she continued.

"Really?"

"Yeah. I think he was just being difficult."

"And why would he have any motivation to be difficult with you?"

Hawkeye didn't say anything, causing Mustang's smirk to widen.

"It wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that you told him you didn't give a shit about his brother…would it?"

The woman glared.

"Shut up."

"Look, Hawkeye, what do you want from him? He's an older brother. It's in their nature to want to protect their siblings. Antagonizing the situation isn't going to make it any easier to deal with."

"What part of 'shut up' do you not understand?"

"I mean, really, this is basic training stuff. Besides, we _have_ to find Alphonse. This is a hostage situation."

"All of it, apparently," Hawkeye muttered, pretending to ignore his comments.

"Maybe you should let me talk to him. Perhaps I could have better luck?"

Hawkeye glowered and then winced at a particularly pricy sounding crash emanating from down the hall.

"We'll see about that."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

For nearly an hour and a half, Edward alternated long stretches of furiously pounding on the door and shouting at the top of his lungs with short breaks to rest and seethe. It was during one of these short breaks that he was struck by an epiphany. As he sat in the slightly dented chair, boiling under the collar, he finally admitted that his current efforts were fruitless and he was running out of time. He couldn't go back to Washington! Not yet! Not while those Nazi bastards still had Alphonse!

"There's gotta be another way out," he muttered under his breath. He began wishing like he'd never wished before that he could use alchemy on this side of the Gate. "If there's no door, then make your own!" he'd always spouted. If he had alchemy, he'd have been out of this room within five minutes of being put here. Heck, he probably could have avoided this whole mess! Anyway, he thought, shaking his head to clear such thoughts. He _didn't_ have alchemy, and he _didn't_ have time to sit around bemoaning that fact.

_Think_, Ed, he ordered, forcing himself to take yet another look around the room. What are you missing?

That's when he saw it, the answer. He almost punched himself for not seeing it before even though it had been plainly staring him in the face this entire time.

"It shouldn't be this easy," he muttered, getting up and picking up his chair. He moved to the corner of the room, positioning the chair against the wall directly beneath the air vent. He stood up on top of it and reached up with his right hand, quickly unscrewing the bolts holding the air grate against the wall. The last screw in the bottom right hand corner was particularly difficult, and when it refused to come out, Edward didn't bother with it, just pulled the other three free from their holes and let the grate swing down. He looked at the door to the room for a long moment, but there were no signs of anyone approaching the door. Edward shook his head.

"It _shouldn't_ be this _easy_," he told himself, but he didn't question his fortunes, grabbing the lip of the air vent and hoisting himself up. In a few short moments, his feet were inside and he disappeared into the darkness beyond.

Meanwhile, Mustang and Hawkeye were still arguing about the matter as they approached the room.

"I'm telling you, I have the situation under control!" Hawkeye insisted.

"I know that you do. I just want to make sure that he's okay. He's been awfully quiet for the last couple of minutes, and I want to make sure he didn't hurt himself or something."

"He's _fine_."

"I'm sure, I just want to check."

With that, Mustang unlocked and threw open the door. He froze in his tracks. Irritated, Hawkeye brushed past him into the room.

"See, I told you, he's…"

She stopped, the words dying in her throat.

"Gone?" Mustang tried to help.

"Russ! Simons!"

The two men ran into the room.

"Send up the call. Elric's on the loose and we've got to find him. Go!"

"Yes, ma'am!" they answered, and they took off down the hall. Hawkeye stared at the air vent and shook her head.

"Damn him!" she spat. "Damn that kid!"

"He outsmarted you using the oldest trick in the book," Mustang felt the need to point out.

"Oh, shut up."

Back up in the air vent, Edward was inching his way up a brief vertical climb, feet and arms held out to either side. Using his hands as the anchors, he scooted one foot up a few inches, and then, using that newly positioned foot as the brace, he pulled the rest of his body up a little higher. He then followed the motion with a scoot of his other foot. In this manner, he managed to make it up to the closest break in the duct. He brought himself up level with the horizontal shaft and basically pushed himself forward and into it, sliding easily through the dust.

For a moment, he lay there, muffling his sneezes in the elbow of his thick sleeve, and then he crawled forward towards the vent directly in front of him. He found that this vent looked out from the floor of the room, which was another office like the one he'd been in. He didn't see anyone in the room and acted quickly, having overheard Hawkeye's orders. With as much force as he could muster from his angle, he punched out with his right hand, pushing the grate straight off the wall. With lightning quick reflexes, he grabbed the object before it could clatter to the ground, and then he crawled out into the room, brushing as much dust as possible off of his clothes.

Out in the hallway of the second floor, the janitor was sweeping and whistling. For the most part, today had been a typical day, minus the loud commotion from the squirt they'd brought back, who was supposedly some famous chemist or some such celebrity figure. The janitor wasn't sure how much he'd believed that because the new arrival looked just like every other ordinary kid to him. Well, he decided, he wouldn't let that bother him too much, and so he continued to work, pretending not to hear the crashes and banging noises coming out of the office below him on the first floor. As he moved past the second office on his left side, the door to the room flew open behind him and he felt an arm lock around his throat while another hand came up and covered his mouth. The janitor was then pulled out of sight into the office where a brief scuffle took place. There came a muffled "Hey!" followed by a dull _thwack_! and then silence.

In a few moments, Edward stepped out into the hallway, clad in the navy blue janitorial suit, complete with his long blonde hair tucked up into the navy blue cap that he kept pulled low over his brow. He picked up the discarded broom lying on the ground and started down the hallway, sweeping and attempting to look as nonchalant as possible. Back in the office, he'd left the poor janitor under the desk in his boxers and undershirt, tied up with his own belt and bootlaces, and gagged with a handkerchief.

Working hard to keep up his act as a very nondescript figure in the background, Edward successfully worked his way back down to the first floor and to the front doors. Once there, he casually looked around, sweeping halfheartedly. Seeing that no one was paying him any mind, he threw the broom to the side behind a potted plant and strode down the steps. Evening was beginning to settle across the Venetian streets as Edward stepped outside and moved down the steps, hands in his pockets and shoulders hunched. He was almost home free, but—keeping in accordance with the Law of Murphy—he bumped into someone and looked up reflexively into the face of this world's version of Vato Falman.

"Oh, sorry," the man said, and he continued on his way. Heart pounding, Edward didn't say anything, just turned and kept walking down the steps as quickly as possible.

Two steps later, Falman froze and turned slightly.

"Wait a second!" he uttered, turning completely around and dashing back down to Edward. He grabbed the young man by the shoulder, spinning him about to face him, and yanked off the janitor's cap. As Edward's long blonde hair tumbled free for the second time in one day, the youth gave the man a halfway apologetic smile.

"Sorry," he said, shrugging helplessly a second before slamming his right fist into the man's stomach. With a breathless grunt, Falman folded in half, and Edward grabbed the man's keys on his way down, running down the steps towards the vehicles. Just as he was doing so, several CIA agents began flooding out into the stairway.

"There he is!!" one shouted, pointing in his direction. By that time, Edward had swung his leg over the back of Falman's motorcycle and had fired it up, peeling away with a screech.

"After him!!" a few men shouted, and several jumped into cars and onto motorcycles, giving chase after the young man.

Edward led them down several blocks, occasionally throwing glances over his shoulder. He knew he needed to lose them, but he had to time it right, so he let them pursue and close the distance for a little while. He took several side streets, honestly having no idea where he was traveling or where he was going. Several Italians eyed the chase in confusion, wondering what in the world was going on. Some of them were rooting for the strangely dressed blonde while others only shook their heads and muttered "_Americani_".

Eventually, the chase made its way into the main roads and Edward began weaving in and out of traffic.

"Man, these things handle really well!" he enthused, impressed by his bike's maneuverability. He threw a glance over his shoulder to see the CIA agents on motorcycles weaving along in his wake. With a determined grunt, he bent down closer against the vehicle and put on more speed. Up ahead of him, he noticed a turn off to his right and he pulled into the right hand lane, staying close to the shoulder. Behind him, the CIA agents had no choice but to follow the same move, except that they were positioned two cars behind him. When the turn off appeared, Edward pulled hard right and zoomed off, nearly losing his balance as he over-corrected his front wheel, but he managed to hold to his seat and keep moving.

The near spill did cost him a precious few moments, letting the CIA agents trailing him to catch up to him. Realizing he probably wouldn't be able to regain his narrow lead, Edward quickly pulled up to the curb and cut the engine, leaving bike and keys behind him as he took off on foot into a side alleyway. Three CIA agents swiftly followed suit, trailing only a few steps behind the young man.

They thought they could trap him against the iron link fence just ahead, but they knew nothing about Edward Elric and could only watch in sheer amazement as he jumped up onto a pile of crates sitting against the fence and lightly sprang to the top of the fence as soon as his right foot touched crate. He grabbed the edge of the iron fencing with his right hand and cleanly back-flipped straight over the barrier with the practiced ease of a veteran gymnast. The men following stared at his back in slack-jawed shock as he dropped into a crouch on the other side and then got to his feet once more, continuing on down the alley.

"Kid, wait!!" one man called as they began climbing the fence. "We're not going to hurt you! Come back!"

But Edward acted as if he didn't hear the man, lightly springing up to the top of the next, wooden fence in line, swinging his legs up and over and dropping down out of sight on the other side.

The CIA agents continued to pursue until they got to the end of the alleyway where they had to admit to themselves and each other that they, highly trained government agents, had been unquestionably bested by a beardless kid half their age.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The hotel's receptionist looked up in bewilderment as the young blonde man came barreling in the front doors, out of breath and looked a little disheveled. He muttered a half-hearted apology to some of the milling patrons he'd stumbled into and gave the receptionist only a passing glance out of the corner of his eyes before shooting across the lobby and skidding into the elevator. The young woman blinked for a few minutes at the closed doors, swearing to herself that she'd seen the young man before (who could forget a face like _that_), only…hadn't he been a red head before? In a few minutes, she shook her head and reassured herself that she'd seen far worse and that it was just better not to know.

Meanwhile, the storm of anger in Edward, at its climax only a few minutes ago, had finally exhausted itself and had settled as a painful migraine in his temples. The ache was also echoed in the muscles in the base of his neck and in his lower back, and he thought the throbbing might never go away as he rubbed his neck and tilted his head around, trying to relieve the pressure somehow. Finally, the elevator reached his floor and he plodded tiredly down the hallway, reaching the door to the suite and pounding on it. Hohenheim pulled open the door, took one look at his clearly exasperated son, and moved out of the way, allowing the young man to pass through the door. For a moment, the eldest Elric peered into the hallway behind Edward, and then took another good look at the young man.

"Edward…where's Alphonse?" he asked.

"The Nazis took him," Edward replied grumpily, ripping open the janitor's suit in a few last bursts of anger

"What? How?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"We _are_ going to get him back…right?"

"Of course we are! Why would you even ask that??"

"Hey, I'm just checking to be sure."

"Well, you shouldn't have to check something like that! You should just assume!"

"Edward…where you're concerned, I have learned to _never_ assume."

"Whatever…I don't want to talk anymore."

Hohenheim let a few more seconds slip by in silence.

"So…where have you been all this time?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"What do you mean? What happened?"

"I said I don't want to talk about it!"

Edward stomped into the bedroom.

"I'm going to bed!"

With that, he slammed the door.

Eliazaar and Maria looked at Hohenheim questioningly, and the man just sighed.

"He's much more forthcoming with answers after he's had sleep, so we'll just wait," he said, turning to search for his newspaper.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Capricia slammed the table where Envy was idly sitting, reading the newspaper and sipping on tea.

"You need to explain yourself," she commanded, green eyes glaring at him.

"What do I need to explain?" he inquired casually, not even blinking and reaching lazily for his tea cup.

"Why did you bring that other brat?? You were supposed to bring Edward!!"

Envy stared at the woman over the rim of his cup.

"Look," he said, setting the cup down with a gentle _clink._ "That 'other brat' will be far more useful to us than having Edward."

She dropped into the chair across from him.

"Why do you say that? Does he know where the uranium bomb is?"

"I'm not sure about that, but that's not what I'm talking about."

"Then what do you mean?"

Envy turned in his chair to fully face the woman and leaned forward.

"That boy is Alphonse Elric, Edward's younger brother, greatest asset, and also his greatest weakness. If you want to get anything out of Edward, you have to go through Alphonse to get it."

Capricia sat back to digest that.

"As long as we have Alphonse, we'll be able to get whatever we want out of Edward," Envy continued.

He, of course, didn't reveal his own true goals to the woman. By having Alphonse, he could indeed get to Edward.

But more importantly, by getting to Edward, he could get to Hohenheim.

Yes, he'd like to make that bastard suffer. He'd teach him a lesson for leaving his mother and him. He'd show him, and what better way to do it than to use the child that looked just like him? Envy would enjoy pummeling Edward, if only because it was the prelude to the pummeling Hohenheim would receive. He hated the younger Elric just for looking like that bastard, just for carrying his blood.

Across from him, Capricia eyed the bloodthirsty, faraway look in the man's dingy golden eyes, and wondered.


	16. Chapter 16

Elric Angst abounds!! What could possibly be better than a chapter full of Elric angst?

Hope you enjoy it!

**Chapter 16**

It was very late in the night when Hohenheim finally rose from his chair and turned out his reading lamp. Eliazaar and Maria had gone to bed hours ago, leaving the eldest Elric to be the only one awake at this ungodly hour of night. Hohenheim had always liked being awake when the whole world was sleeping; there was something about the pervading calm of the evening that made him feel…peaceful. He could just sit and think about things; about his life, and how much it had changed, and where it was going from this point. Perhaps, more importantly, it gave him a chance to reflect back on his short time with the first—and last—woman he'd ever loved.

Just as his thoughts were turning to Trisha, he was quietly entering the room where Edward and Eliazaar lay sleeping, the former on one of the beds and the latter asleep on a cot in the furthest corner of the room. There were only two rooms in the suite, one with two beds and the other holding only one. Hohenheim had surrendered the room with the single bed to Maria, seeing as how she was the only girl. As he moved past the foot of Edward's bed, he found that he couldn't deny a sense of nervousness stirring in his veins. He knew exactly where the source of his nervousness was coming from; being in close proximity to Edward always made him nervous. He was never really sure why he always felt that way. It definitely wasn't the good kind of nervousness, like how he always felt whenever Trisha walked into the room. Boy, could that woman take your breath away, Hohenheim mused, sitting down on the foot of his bed and taking off his shoes. All she had to do was step in through the doorway, and the whole room could light up with her radiance. She had a very distinct presence, one that was never oppressive, but very noticeable whenever she left you. Hohenheim sighed. He missed that feeling, when his palms got sweaty, and his heart would pound, and he always found himself short of breath, especially when Trisha would beam a smile at him. He wistfully longed to feel once more that little jolt in his stomach as the butterflies fought to get free.

Yes, he thought, and his gaze drifted over to fall upon the sleeping form of his son. That was the good kind of nervousness, the kind that he didn't mind so much. The tension he felt around Edward was entirely different; his back muscles would always clench up, and his shoulders stiffened, and he always felt that he had to be formal when addressing the boy. He never, ever felt that way when he talked to Alphonse, but maybe that was because Alphonse was easy to get to know. He took after his mother in more ways than one, and perhaps that was why Hohenheim always felt so comfortable around him. Alphonse's presence was…safer, somehow. But Edward…he was an enigma all his own. Hohenheim studied the young man's back for a long moment, watching his side rise and fall with every slumbering breath he took. How little he knew of this young man, and yet, how much at the same time! Edward was just like him; looked just like him, had his same narrow-mindedness, his same obsessive, one-track-mind type of focus. He had Hohenheim's temper, too, only 1000 years had been enough to put a damper on Hohenheim's spite and fire. Edward's was still raging hot, because he was only eighteen—a mere infant in Hoheheim's enormous lifetime.

Yes, there was so much of himself in Edward. One would think that would make it easier to connect and understand this young man, but no; it only made things ten times as difficult. Even though they were so similar, there was so much pushing them apart, and the biggest barrier Hohenheim had yet to climb over was Edward's stubborn anger towards him for walking out all those years ago.

Hohenheim would never ask for Edward's forgiveness. He didn't deserve it, because there was no excuse for what he'd done. It was just…Hohenheim sighed. He'd explained it once to Edward; he'd left because he didn't want his children to see what a monster their father was. He didn't want them to hate him because of what he was—a walking corpse. He'd chosen the coward's way out, he knew, but at the time he'd thought it would be easier for his children to get over him if he made them hate him for a human reason. And yet, every day away from them had been torture; he had found himself always dreaming about running straight home and scooping his boys up into his arms and not caring about what would come. His own selfish fears had held him back all of these years, though, and he just couldn't bring himself to see the looks of hurt and betrayal he knew he would find.

But, as fate would have it, he'd finally run across their path after a nine year absence. Truth be told, he hadn't been surprised at all by the reactions he found waiting for him; Alphonse's openness and willingness to allow his father back into his life, and Edward's stubborn refusal to make any contact whatsoever. Hohenheim had understood that, and he had accepted it. But then…they'd all ended up on this side of the Gate, where Hohenheim's body was no longer rotting, and there were no more Homunculi and no more Philosopher's Stones, and here they could start a whole new life. Hohenheim wanted that, and had been thrilled that Alphonse, too, had felt the same way. Through Alphonse, he'd learned tricks and techniques for dealing with Edward's temper, and he'd learned a few bits and pieces about the young man…but it was never enough. He wanted to know his son; yes, he wanted to talk to him so badly sometimes that it burned. But Edward refused him at every turn; refused his pleas and refused his efforts. He was still hurt by what Hohenheim had done, and Hohenheim recognized that. He wanted to do something about that, wanted to make it go away. He owed it to his son. But, how could you help someone who so stubbornly shut you out?

Edward suddenly moved, startling Hohenheim out of his thoughts. He thought the young man was awake, but it turned out that he was just rolling over to lie on his other side so that he was now facing Hohenheim. The eldest Elric watched as the young man gathered the blankets into his hands, bunching them up around his neck and curling into them in a somewhat protection-seeking maneuver. For a long moment, Hohenheim didn't move, just sat where he was and watched his son sleep, studying the way his golden blonde hair fell into his face, listening to the sound of his deep and even breathing. He took it all into account, and realizing for that this was the closest he'd ever been to his elder son, but he'd never felt further from the young man than he did at this moment. Sadness deep and profound darkened the shadows lining Hohenheim's face, and he finally admitted to himself that he didn't want Edward to hate him any more, that he couldn't take not knowing his child any longer.

He became conscious, too, of the fact that, in all the time Edward had been alive, Hohenheim had touched him maybe twice, and only when he was very small. That thought suddenly motivated his legs to bring him to Edward's bedside, and he stood there staring down at the sleeping youth. One hand slowly reached out towards the young man's head, shakily hovered there for a few moments—mere inches away from the golden tresses—but then withdrew. Hohenheim curled his hand into a fist and cursed his own cowardice. How was it possible that he could be so afraid of someone he loved so much?

In the end, he only turned and climbed into his bed, closing his eyes and trying to shake the sudden but painful loneliness he felt.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The night passed rather uneventfully for Alphonse, though he didn't really sleep all that well, tossing and turning about as he worried about what was going to happen tomorrow. When dawn broke, Alphonse was there to see it, sitting in the well of the tiny window in the room his captors had all but thrown him into, leaving him there with no word of explanation and no indication on how long he would be there. It was a small room, holding only a table with a lamp and chair and a bed. Alphonse sighed, knees drawn tightly to his chest. He knew that the present situation was definitely not a good one, and he knew, too, that he was now a pawn in Martigue's game. They wanted to use him against his brother, and with Edward being so protective of his younger brother, Alphonse knew that this plan was practically foolproof.

Practically, he reminded himself. There were still some holes in it. For one, they clearly underestimated Alphonse's ability to fend for himself. He knew that if the opportunity for escape arose he'd take it in a heartbeat. For now, though, he had to bide his time. They were expecting that of him (and who wouldn't, what with Edward being their prior prisoner?), so he had to lull them into a false sense of security, make them think he was a helpless little boy, and then strike when they least expected it.

Alphonse sighed again. So much easier said then done. The soldiers would be on high alert at all times, watching him like a hawk because he was, after all, an Elric. Unintentionally, it seemed, Edward's time as Martigue's prisoner had made Alphonse's life difficult.

A few hours later, when the sun had reached a fairly decent height in the sky, one of the Nazi soldiers guarding Alphonse's door came into the room. Alphonse looked over at the man questioningly.

"Come. Herr Martigue wants to see you."

Wordlessly, Alphonse rose from the window seat and moved towards the door. The man moved aside so that he could pass, and the other led the way out to the front rooms of the lavish apartment suite. They made their way over to a small table by a window in the sitting area of the apartment's front room where they found none other than Andre de Martigue sitting, drinking tea as he waited for Alphonse's arrival.

"Ah! Monsieur Alphonse! Please, have a seat."

Alphonse didn't say anything, but he did take a seat opposite the man. He kept his expression an emotionless mask.

"Did you sleep well?" the Frenchman continued as he reached over and poured some tea into the gold rimmed china cup resting in front of the thirteen year old. Alphonse didn't say a word nor did he make any moves towards the teacup. He just held his serious gaze steady on Martigue's face. The Frenchman continued to talk as if he didn't notice Alphonse's lack of engagement.

"I apologize for how shoddy this place looks. We didn't have a lot of time to prepare for your arrival, you see, but I do hope you'll find your stay with us comfortable."

"Excuse me, sir, but why don't you cut the small talk and tell me what it is you really want," Alphonse finally spoke up, causing Martigue to pause momentarily just before dropping the square of sugar into his tea cup and stirring it around.

The man didn't say a word as he did so, forcing Alphonse to wait, and when he'd finished stirring, he took a long sip as if to savor the flavor. Finally, he placed the teacup back down and locked gazes with the boy in front of him, folding his hands before him, elbows on the table, and lips resting against his hands as he thoughtfully studied the youngest Elric. Something about Alphonse bothered Martigue more than he cared to admit. He'd expected a completely different personality from a thirteen year old, one more rash and hasty, or even frightened and panicked, but Alphonse was cool, calm, and collected. It was a surprising change from Edward, who could pitch fits worse than a spoiled three year old. Alphonse's composed demeanor was slightly…unnerving, as was the look in his honey brown eyes. He was too mature, too contained, and that raked on Martigue's nerves, giving him an uneasy feeling.

Finally, Martigue lifted his face away from his hands and smiled.

"I think you know what I want, monsieur."

"The uranium bomb and the technology to make more."

"Precisely."

"I get that. What I don't understand is why you want it, or why you've sided with the Nazis to get it."

Martigue picked up his spoon and stirred his tea some more, just to have something to do.

"I joined with the Nazis because they have the right goal in mind: total domination of Europe; putting the whole continent under one rule. Having that will allow order to reign and will eliminate conflicts between countries."

Alphonse felt himself grow cold with horror as he listened, realizing that the man across from him thought he was doing the world some good. Martigue, meanwhile, clenched his hand into a fist.

"My government's regime is weak. We have sifted through four different democracies already with monarchies interspersed in between. If Hitler's vision can come to fruition, all of Europe will finally be under the control of one, centralized system that will last for a long time, and people will stop being plagued by these constantly teeter-tottering, try-on governments. People will finally have something to rely on, something to depend on. They won't constantly be questioning when the government will shift again. They will know the face of their leader."

The man's dark amber eyes locked with Alphonse's soft honey brown ones.

"That is why I need the bomb, so that I can eliminate any who oppose us. Having the technology to create more will temper the resolve of our enemies, and they will not deter us with that kind of a threat hanging over their heads. That, monsieur, is why it is essential for me to get that information out of your brother."

Alphonse's stomach twisted, but he refused to show the unease on his face.

"Which is where I come in," he filled in.

"Oui. That is where you come in. You are the insurance policy we will need to make absolutely certain that your brother gives us _all_ the information that we want and withholds nothing."

"You're a fool," Alphonse interrupted suddenly, shaking his head. "If Hitler's plan succeeds, your countrymen won't have a country anymore!"

"What are you talking about?" Martigue inquired, gaze narrowing.

"I don't know if no one told you, or if you've just decided to block that part of your memory out, but Hitler's plan after he dominates all of Europe is to rid the continent of everyone but those of Aryan descent. He wants a completely authentic race of Germans, and I doubt that he includes you and your countrymen in that list."

Martigue stared hard at the boy and then adjusted the napkin sitting on his lap.

"I care not about that. As long as the continent in under one, clearly defined rule, then I can die happily."

Alphonse balked.

"Hundreds, maybe thousands of your countrymen will die, and you don't care?"

"People need guidance. They need direction. They will understand."

"They'll understand?? How can you say that??"

"It is the cost of progress."

Alphonse clenched his hands into fists. Always, it seemed, it came back to this idea. And always would he have to defy it.

"Progress that doesn't benefit _everyone_ _isn't _progress at all," he practically growled, teeth somewhat clenched as his body stiffened with anger. Everything about Martigue infuriated the youngest Elric to a point he'd never experienced before. Alphonse Elric didn't like to hate people, but with this man, he found that simply intensely disliking him was too nice a gesture.

Martigue shrugged as if Alphonse's opinion mattered little to him.

"You can't make everyone happy. What's the loss of a few hundreds or thousands if the benefit to the millions is greater?"

Alphonse's anger suddenly felt tight in his chest, a white-hot ball of indignation. He glared so hard that he scared himself.

"People's lives shouldn't be measured in terms of addition or subtraction!" he spat, body nearly trembling with rage. Martigue studied him and shrugged again.

"You're young. You don't understand, monsieur. _No_ life is measured in anything _but_ addition and subtraction. While young idealism such as yours is endearing and refreshing, it will sooner or later be clouded over by cynicism as you come to understand the way that the world really operates."

The Frenchman stood, dabbing at his mouth pointedly with his napkin as if to wipe his mouth clean of the whole, unappetizing conversation.

"The world is an ugly place, my young friend. It's not as black and white as you want it to be. There are quite a few shades of gray in between."

He started to walk away.

"Do what you want," he heard Alphonse say behind him, and he looked over his shoulder at the boy curiously. The thirteen year old looked up from the fists he held clenched on his thighs, and there was a determined look on his face.

"You can do whatever you want and think whatever you like," he continued, "but my brother will always be one step ahead and he's going to stop you."

Martigue smirked and turned to fully face the boy.

"I will give you credit, boy. You have a lot of hope."

The man sighed and shook his head, that mocking smile still planted on his face.

"Your hopes are unfounded. As soon as we relocate your brother, he will tell us all that we need to know. And I've already illuminated to you why, but clearly you need me to say it again."

He walked over so that he was slightly towering over Alphonse, who looked up at him nervously, knowing the answer, but still wanting to deny the truth.

"As long as I have you in my grasp, your brother won't stop me," the man said in a voice so low only Alphonse could hear him. "His fraternal need to protect you will override all logical reasoning, and with his judgment clouded, he will surrender everything he knows."

Alphonse held the man's amber gaze and swallowed hard. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he knew the man's words to be true. A gun to his head was just the same as holding a gun straight to Edward's head. All common sense would fly straight out of the older Elric's head and he would do whatever they wanted.

"And if you get what you want?" Alphonse couldn't help but ask. "What happens then?"

Martigue's smile was wicked.

"Well, the two of you will no longer be of any use to me…" he said, and he didn't need to finish the sentence. Alphonse stared him in an expression that tried to be defiant, but looked more horrified than anything else. Martigue stood there looking him in the eyes for another moment before smiling and walking away.

"I've got quite a bit to do before the day's end, monsieur. Oh, and if you try to escape, I'll have you shot. Not enough to kill you, but you will be severely crippled. Ta."

For a moment, Alphonse didn't move, could only sit there staring at the man's back and trying to still his shaking.

_Brother, what are we going to do?_

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Edward sat at the table, meal half-eaten, staring at the newspaper but not actually reading it. Across from him, Maria's face was lined with concern. She hadn't known him for very long, but it was clear to her that this forlorn and almost lost look on his face should not be there. She wanted to say something to him, but didn't know of any words that might make the situation any easier to swallow. An older sister herself, she could sympathize with his fears and worry, knowing that she'd be just as lost as him if her little sister were ever taken hostage. She couldn't understand, though, the dilemma he had to muddle through. Should he give Martigue what he wanted and tell him about the uranium bomb, or should he risk his brother's life trying to rescue him? Neither situation seemed altogether favorable to Maria, and she wished she could do something to help.

"Edward?" she finally asked. For a moment, he didn't respond, just continued to sit and stare at the newspaper before him. Suddenly, he blinked and stirred, looking up at her.

"Yeah?" he asked, and his tone was like that of someone having been woken up from sleep.

"What are you going to do?"

It was a simple question, one he'd been asking himself for the last 12 hours. He sighed and looked back down at the table.

"I don't know. I just don't know."

Maria didn't press the issue. All of a sudden, Edward leaned forward, folding his hands together. Maria blinked.

"A metal hand?" she couldn't keep from blurting. She met his gaze, and there was a haunted look lining his golden eyes. For a long moment, he didn't speak, just continued to hold her gaze, and Maria felt as if she were being silently tested for loyalty. She drew herself up to her full height as if to say, _Tell me. I can handle it. _Edward sighed.

"It's a very long and complicated story," he said. "And you won't understand. It's a mistake I made from a long time ago."

Maria stared at the metal, eyeing the workmanship that was like nothing she'd ever seen before in her entire life.

"It's all the way up," he continued, answering her unspoken question. He gestured to his collar bone, even pulled aside his collar so that she could see the metal plates covering his shoulder and the sturdy-looking bolt screwed directly into the bone. She winced at that, thinking that it must have hurt.

"The whole thing is gone?"

He nodded.

"My leg, too."

As if he needed to prove it to her, he pulled up his left pants leg, displaying the prosthetic for her to see. Her eyes widened.

"How…how did it happen?"

He looked to the side, crossing his arms against his abdomen in a protective gesture, right arm under the left.

"This is…the price I had to pay for my sins."

Maria stared.

"What did you do?" she asked in a strained voice, frightened by the idea that this young man—such a kind, caring young man—could have done something so terrible as to deserve such a terrible punishment. Edward's eyes slowly came back to meet her scared brown ones, and that haunted look had returned to his face. He seemed to have aged a hundred years in the span of two seconds, the soul behind his eyes a thousand times older than his physical body let on. It was clear to Maria all at once that this young man, while her age, had already seen more than she would ever see in a hundred of her lifetimes, and it was also clear that it was a heavy burden to bear.

"What did you do?" she asked again, this time in a whisper, suddenly in awe of this figure before her. His expression was almost sad, as if he were some benevolent god seeking a way to spare her.

"You wouldn't understand," he finally said. The gentle voice he spoke with was that of a being much, much older. Maria felt her shoulders slump, as if she could not bear the weight of his presence much longer.

"What do you know?" she whispered, but he continued to hold his sad, faraway expression.

"If you knew the answer to that, you'd find far more trouble than you already have."

There was something like an apology behind his words, and he rose from his chair, walking away from her, and as she watched him go, it seemed as if all the world's burdens were weighing down his shoulders.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

(sigh) All this angst makes me a little sad…especially those closing lines.

Sorry for taking so frickin long to write this. I just wasn't feeling angsty enough to do it. Chapter 17 coming soon!!

Please review!!


	17. Chapter 17

I'M BAAAAAAAAACK!!!

Ed finally started talking to me again. He was mad because I was spending a lot of time with Kenshin and Kenshin-gumi. But, it would appear he has finally forgiven me!! T.T Thank you, Edward!!

Ed: (crosses arms) Whatever…

Thank you so very much to all of my readers for being so understanding while I took my hiatus away from this story. I really appreciate all the support, and I love you so much!! For those of you who already left a signed review on this chapter but would like to leave another on the actual version, just leave an anonymous review. I'll still find a way to send you a thank you!

And now, without further ado…CHAPTER 17!! WOOT!!!

**Chapter 17**

"Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well…it just feels like we're advertising our position to the enemy."

"Hmm…well, oh well. Not much we can do about that now."

"But now we can't swoop in from behind and nab 'em."

"Life is all about sacrifice, my friend."

"Hmph! I prefer _not_ to sacrifice my advantage…"

FBI Agents Havoc and Mustang were sitting in an empty room of the U.S. Embassy building, Havoc holding a cup of coffee and Mustang sitting with his file folders spread across the table in front of him. It was Havoc who expressed his concern about Mustang's latest idea: to go on national television and ask for all people in the Venice area to help them track down the Elrics. To Havoc, it just seemed too risky, because surely Martigue would see it and be on alert all the time, eliminating the element of surprise. At the same time, Havoc acknowledged that the more eyes looking for the Elrics, the more likely the three would be found.

"So, when is this press brief going to happen again?"

Mustang looked up at the clock on the far left wall.

"Three hours from now."

Havoc also looked over at the clock, studying it for a long moment. The blonde man chewed on his lip.

"You think this will work?"

"Don't know. It's worth a shot, though."

"How many people know about it?"

"Anyone who has read today's paper. I called every local newspaper last night to tell them, and they all said they would run it."

Havoc nodded, and then shook his head.

"Still can't believe that kid escaped from Hawkeye. And through the air vent, too!"

Mustang chuckled.

"You should have seen the look on her face when she walked in and realized it."

"Oh, man, I bet it was hysterical."

"Oh, trust me. It was better than hysterical."

The two men shared a chuckle.

Suddenly, Havoc decided to voice something that had been bothering him more than a little for the past few minutes.

"Hey, do you think Edward reads the newspaper?"

Mustang paused in his writing to look up, almost shocked by the other man's words. After a minute of thinking, he shrugged.

"Maybe. I've only met the kid once, so I don't really know if he's a 'news monger' or not. He did seem like the type who would try to keep himself up-to-date about all the goings-on around him, though, so I would say, yeah, he probably does."

"Okay. So, hypothetically speaking, let's say Edward has read today's paper."

"Okay."

"Let's say he read the headlining article about our news briefing later today."

"Okay."

Havoc sat there, the expression on his face telling Mustang that he was clearly waiting for some great revelation to sink in to the dark haired man's brain.

It didn't.

"What about it?" Mustang finally asked, a slight edge of irritation in his voice.

Havoc sighed, realizing he'd have to do this the long and painful way.

"Don't you think that if _you're_ the one trying to avoid both the Nazis _and_ the FBI you'd go into hiding even more than before now that you know _everyone_ in the city's going to be looking for you?"

Comprehension dawned. Mustang smirked.

"I don't think that will happen in this case."

"What makes you say that?"

"Edward has managed to not only escape from the Nazis, but he's escaped from the CIA, too. The _CIA_, Havoc. They're the best in the business. While you and I might relax with doughnuts, they're out running army issue obstacle courses for fun. _And Edward got away from them. _Not only that, but he was brazen enough to go straight up to the head of the CIA team while wearing a disguise and try to fish information from her! No, Edward's not that type of person. He'll be right where we least expect him: out in the open."

"No better place to hide," said Havoc, raising his coffee mug as if in toast to Edward. Mustang shrugged his shoulders and held out his hands as if to say _Can't argue with that._

"With any luck," Mustang added as he went back to writing his report, "he might actually come up to _us._"

"And that's when we'll pounce?"

The black haired man smiled.

"And that's when we'll pounce," he agreed.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"Okay, so here's the plan," said Edward, smoothing out the newspaper on the table before him with both hands. "Eliazaar, I want you to take Maria and Lani and head to Iskenderun. Here are the tickets."

Edward handed over the pieces of paper.

"See if you can locate Haadji. Meanwhile, I'm going to pose as a reporter and see how much information I can pump from the FBI about Martigue's whereabouts. Dad, I want you to come along as my back up in case anything goes wrong. Alright? Everyone clear on what they have to do?"

Confidently, the other three nodded, and Edward nodded in confirmation.

"Okay."

He moved away from the table and pulled out his ponytail, only to reach back with both hands a second later and braid the blonde locks with practiced ease. He briefly eyed his reflection in a mirror on the wall to his right, feeling an eerie sense of déjà vu as he looked into a face he thought he'd never see again. Suppressing the urge to shudder, he continued forward, picking up and sliding into the thick dark brown, suede trenchcoat he'd laid on the chair earlier, along with a set of white gloves, and a faded brown fedora. He stuck a pad of paper in one pocket of the coat before grabbing the light tan scarf left on the chair and wrapping it around his neck, tucking it down in the coat which he then buttoned.

Thusly bundled—it was, after all, nearing the winter season—he started out the door, only to be stopped by Hohenheim. He turned around, about to inquire with a brusque attitude, when his father produced a pair of glasses from a pocket. Edward wordlessly raised an eyebrow, about to protest, but Hohenheim stuck his thumbs through the frames, displaying the lack of lenses.

"They're an old spare of mine. I don't need them anymore," he explained before sliding the frames onto Edward's face. Maria did her best not to giggle; the obvious similarities between Edward and his father were more poignant when Edward was wearing glasses. Deciding that it would be in her best interest _not_ to share this observation, Maria picked up both the suitcase Alphonse and Hohenheim had purchased for her holding all of the clothing they'd gotten for her, and she also lifted Alphonse's suitcase. Eliazaar grabbed Edward's and Hohenheim's, and the two of them moved into the hallway, followed by the Elrics.

"See you in Iskenderun," Edward said in an attempt to be cheerful.

"Good luck," Maria told him.

"You, too."

With that, the four moved off in two different directions, Eliazaar and Maria heading for the elevator while Edward and Hohenheim moved for the stairs.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Envy made no effort to answer the questioning stares of Martigue, Capricia, or Alphonse as to what his intentions were. Instead, he wordlessly slid into his coat and put on his hat, his expression at ease and thoroughly nonchalant. Before he stepped out the door, though, he turned and locked gazes with Alphonse. Alphonse met Envy's gaze challengingly, trying to deny any fear he felt towards the man. He had learned "Vergil's" true identity from Edward, and he knew all too well what the "man" was capable of. He didn't want to give Envy the satisfaction of seeing him unnerved, knowing too well that the former Homunculus thrived on that sensation.

In response to Alphonse's steady gaze, Envy's mouth split across his face in a vile, wicked grin, allowing Alphonse to read every intention in the man's eyes. The boy's eyes widened in horror, and he leaped from his chair, racing for Envy and taking a swing. He didn't get anywhere near the man, as he was grabbed by three Nazis—one wrapping his arms around Alphonse's waist while the other two grabbed his arms. He continued to struggle fiercely, kicking his legs, trying anyway he could to get at Envy and stop him.

"Leave them alone!!" Alphonse shouted, only adding to Martigue and Capricia's utter confusion. "You'd better not touch them!!"

Envy only continued to stand where he was a smile. Finally, he turned to his employer, ignoring Capricia completely.

"I'm going out for a bit," he said calmly, as if he didn't even notice Alphonse's actions. With that, he turned and headed out into the hallway. Alphonse strained against his captors' holds, gritting his teeth.

"_No!!!"_ he shouted. _"Leave them alone!!!"_

Envy pretended not to hear, heading down the stairs. He would not be deterred now. His plan was finally in motion. Grinning psychotically, he balled his right hand into a fist. Things were finally looking up. After today, he wouldn't need to kiss up to Martigue any longer because his goal would finally be accomplished. He knew that if he found Edward he was supposed to drag the brat back to Martigue alive, but that didn't matter. He had never been told what condition the little pipsqueak had to be in when handed over the Frenchman, so thrashing him within an inch of his life wouldn't be out of the question. Envy smirked. Maybe he'd torture the little bastard into telling him where the uranium bomb was hidden, just so that he could get to it first before Martigue—just to spite the snobbish Frenchman and his Italian bitch, of course.

Yes, Envy thought as he stepped into the early evening sunshine, today was going to be a good day.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Edward and Hohenheim arrived midway through the FBI press briefing. By that time, Mustang had already addressed both his objective for the briefing and had outlined the enemy's plans—without, of course, giving away any classified information. Without a word, the two Elrics immediately split up, Edward working his way through the middle of the crowd while Hohenheim skirted around the left flank. Edward kept an ear cocked for anything important as he squeezed past bodies, ignoring the disgruntled looks of the surrounding reporters. Once he was more towards the front of the crowd, he pulled out his paper pad and pencil and pretended to be scribbling notes while he mentally filed all of the information.

"Mr. Mustang! Mr. Mustang!" called one man behind and to the left of Edward. When Agent Mustang gestured to him, he continued.

"Mr. Mustang, can you give us a description of Martigue and his goons?"

"To be honest, I've never actually seen Andre de Martigue, but his 'goons' look like Nazis, complete with the uniforms."

A chuckle rose up around Edward. He missed the joke.

"Sir!" the man behind him continued, "How about a description of the Elrics?"

"Ah, I'm getting to that!"

As Mustang shuffled through a few of the papers before him on the podium, Hohenheim instinctively retreated to the cover of the evening shadows, trying to look as indiscreet as possible.

"Here we go!" Mustang said, pulling one paper out from the rest of the pile and placing it on top. "Okay, we'll start with the youngest of the three, Alphonse Elric. He's about thirteen years old with blonde hair and brown eyes. He's about five foot, three inches, weighing about 111 pounds. He was last seen wearing light brown trousers, a white collared shirt, and a light tan suit coat. Hohenheim Elric is the father of the two boys. He is about 40 to 50 years old"—here Hohenheim balked indignantly—"with blonde hair and beard and goldish brown eyes, and he's about six feet in height. He was last seen wearing a dark brown trenchcoat, dark brown pants, and glasses. And finally, Edward Elric. Age: 18. Hair color: blonde; eye color: gold. We don't know his exact height, but if I had to make my guess,"—Edward stiffened—"I'd say he's roughly between five foot and five foot, five inches. He weighs about 135 pounds. He was last seen wearing a navy blue janitorial suit, but our experience has taught us that he likes to disguise himself. If you see anyone who could resemble these three, notify authorities immediately and we'll take it from there."

Edward could hear a few suspicious whispers amidst the scribbles of pens and pencils. He scrunched up his shoulders and made himself as small as possible, hoping that no one around him would realize how completely he resembled himself.

So busy was he in trying to keep his cover from being blown, the young scientist almost missed the next question.

"Mr. Mustang, you said in your report earlier that Alphonse is currently a captive of this Martigue character. Is there anything more about that you can tell us?"

Edward perked up and gave his full attention to the response. Mustang nodded, as if he had expected the question.

"As far as we know, Alphonse is alive and well."

Edward had figured as much. _Tell me something I don't know_.

"Any further information is confidential and can only be shared with those involved in this case. I can say that a notice was received from Martigue's party, but it was addressed Edward Elric, so we're not sure as to the contents."

Edward knew a boldfaced lie when he heard one, because the FBI would have read anything if it related to their case, even if it was addressed to someone else. Edward also had a fairly decent idea as to what the content of the letter would be, and the thought infuriated him. Without really thinking about the consequences, he pushed through the crowd to the edge of the stage.

From the back of the crowd, Hohenheim eyed his son's actions in slight distress. What was he doing??

From the other flank, Envy watched in interest.

Edward was causing quite a stir among the reporters, and it only got worse when he ran into the agents lining the front of the platform.

"Sir, you need to step back," one warned, tone brooking no argument. Edward paid no attention.

"Sir, I'm only going to warn you one more time!" the agent continued. Edward threw him a rather vile glare, which froze the man for a brief second. Brief enough, because before he could recover, Edward leaped past him onto the stage. The crowd was all abuzz at this blatant breach in protocol, and pencils were flying as the events were recorded. The agents moved to intercept Edward before he reached Mustang at the podium, but, recognizing the youth despite his disguise, Mustang put up a hand and stopped them. He moved away from the podium and the assorted microphones to speak to Edward privately.

"I was wondering when you'd show up," he said, smirking.

"Shut it, you bastard. You've got what I need, and I've got what you need," Edward replied, clearly in no mood to play games. Mustang nodded and moved back to the microphones.

"That's all for tonight, folks. Please notify us for any further questions."

He moved away, grabbing at Edward's elbow as his passed, but Edward wasn't done. He pulled away from the agent and moved to the microphones, expression none-too-pleased. For a moment, no one moved or said anything, and Edward focused on the nearest video camera.

"I know you're out there, Martigue!" he said, staring into the lens as if he could channel his rage through it. "And I know that you're watching! Mark my words, you bastard; I _will_ get my brother back! Just remember that when I catch up to you, you'll be in for a _world_ of hurt!! You hear me, you rat bastard??"

He pointed at the camera.

"I'm coming for you!!"

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

In his comfortable chair, hands held before him with the fingers interlaced, Martigue grinned boyishly at the screen.

"Come on, then," he said quietly.

Beside him, Alphonse could only pray Edward would stick to his promise.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The various newsmen and women gathered in the crowd were in an uproar now that Edward had revealed himself. Satisfied that he'd said all he'd wanted to say, Edward turned away from the podium. However, Jean Havoc saw something in the crowd that struck him as very wrong. A man who was dressed in a very nondescript manner reached very discreetly into the breast-pocket of his trenchcoat, catching hold of something and pulling it free. Havoc squinted, but the glint that rose off the object told him everything he needed to know.

"_Gun!!_" he yelled, drawing his own. Several agents wheeled around in surprise, and Edward turned as well, confused.

With Havoc's 9 mm hand pistol pointing at them, the crowd erupted in chaos. The people scattered, women screaming and men shouting at one another as everyone tried to get out of the way all at the same time. Edward continued to scan the confusion, trying to locate the supposed gunman while Mustang fought his way through the disorderly mass of bewildered agents. The gunman, meanwhile, proceeded to open fire above the heads of the crowds, the spray aimed at Edward. The youth watched in horror as the podium before him suddenly splintered into a thousand pieces, the small semiautomatic machine gun chewing it apart before his very eyes. At the last possible second, Mustang flew through the air, tackling Edward and pinning him to the ground beneath his body just before the top half of the podium exploded off of its base. For a moment, Mustang didn't move, just covered Edward as best he could with his own body until the gunfire ceased. When it did, Edward tried to get up, but Mustang pinched the pressure points on the back of the young man's neck, painfully forcing him to stay to the ground. He knew how Edward worked, and knew that he couldn't risk letting the young chemist be killed. Edward winced and squirmed uncomfortably, but stopped trying to rise.

Mustang drew his pistol.

"Marshall! Jensen!! To me!" he ordered, shouting to be heard above the return fire from the frontline of agents. The two men bent low and scurried over to Mustang's side. The black haired man rose off of Edward and released him.

"Get him into the building," he said, gesturing to the tan bricked building behind him. The two men nodded, and Marshall grasped Edward's forearm, drawing his pistol. Jensen moved in behind Edward to guard his back, holding a submachine gun. As one, the three moved towards the doors, staying in a low crouch until they reached the inner sanctum of the tan brick building.

Mustang watched in satisfaction as Havoc and two other agents bore the gunman to the ground under their combined weight. One more wrinkle ironed out…

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Before anyone could see him, Hohenheim slipped quietly into the shadows of a nearby alleyway, making his way towards the appointed spot he and Edward had agreed to rendezvous at later that evening. Unbeknownst to him, Envy grinned wickedly and followed after him.

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Aw man!!! I'm so glad I finally got this finished!!! Thanks again to all of my readers who were so kind and understanding!! I really do appreciate it, and I hope this chapter was to your liking!! If you can't leave a signed review, leave me an anonymous one, and I'll figure out how to reply to your review in another way!!

Please review!!


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

"Here."

Edward looked up in surprise at the white porcelain mug that suddenly appeared in his vision. Mustang held the cup out to him, holding one for himself.

"All we had was hot chocolate. Seems as though we cleaned out this week's supply of coffee."

Eyeing the inviting steam, Edward held out his hands and took the cup from the agent.

"This is fine, thanks."

He curled his hands around the cylindrical object, feeling the warmth of life return to his cold left hand.

With a sigh, Mustang dropped into the chair sitting cockeyed to the right of the two person couch Edward was currently occupying. For a moment, the two didn't say anything, and as Edward studied the room around him, he was quite surprised at how drastically different his second time inside the Embassy building was from the first experience. He quickly hid his mischievous smirk behind his mug, recalling the daring and thoroughly clichéd escape he'd made from here only a day and a half ago.

"So," Mustang said suddenly, breaking the silence. "How are you?"

Edward didn't bother to hide his smirk this time.

"Well, I haven't died yet, which is always a plus."

"Indeed."

An awkward pause ensued. Finally, Edward couldn't take it anymore.

"So you have a ransom notice from Martigue for me, huh?" he asked, trying to make his tone sound indifferent, as if he cared little. In reality, he was about to start bouncing off the walls soon. Mustang frowned.

"I'd hoped you wouldn't bring that up."

Edward stared.

"Why?" he asked, and from this tone, which he didn't bother to disguise, he was clearly in no mood to be jerked around. Luckily for him, Mustang didn't seem to be in the mood to mince words.

"There is no notice."

The young scientist stiffened and sat motionless for a long, long moment. Slowly, he blinked.

"What?" he finally managed to get out.

"There is no notice."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean just that. There is no notice."

Edward felt his temper flare familiarly.

"Then why did you say there was?" he inquired, practically spitting the words.

"Because I knew it would get you to reveal yourself."

The youth stared again for a long moment.

"I knew that if I made mention of Martigue and a ransom notice, you'd pop right out of the shadows and into my grasp."

Again, Edward only stared. He truthfully had zero energy to be angry, but he was willing to make an exception this one time.

"You made it up?"

"Yes, I did."

"You made it up."

He almost sounded as if he didn't know what to make of that.

"We need you in custody, Ed. For your own safety."

Edward put his mug down on the table to his right.

"It's Mr. Elric to you," he replied coldly, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. Mustang looked at him half incredulously.

"You're serious."

"I am."

The FBI agent rolled his eyes.

"I'm sorry I fibbed—"

"—lied, you mean—"

"—whatever. I'm sorry I did that and it pissed you off, but you have realize something, Mr. Elric. I'm not your enemy."

Edward just glared, causing Mustang to sigh in frustration.

"I'm just doing my job."

"I can't go back to the U.S."

Mustang nodded, having expected this argument would come up, and he placed his mug beside Edward's on the table.

"And why, pray tell, can't you?"

The young scientist hesitated for a moment, not sure he wanted to entrust this man with the secret. Mustang sighed again.

"You can trust me. I'm not your enemy."

Edward's golden eyes dropped to his lap, and for a moment, the FBI saw unfathomable depths of pain in them. He blinked. This young man was ever the mysterious one. There was so much behind him that Mustang wasn't sure he could ever comprehend it all. What had this youth been through that could have turned him out this way?

"I have to stay here in Europe."

"So you've made quite clear. What I don't know is why."

"…because if I don't…they'll kill Alphonse."

The soft tone the young man used surprised Mustang, for all of his prior experiences with the youth called to mind images of golden-haired fury. Seeing this quiet distress struck the agent as very out of character for this young man.

"What makes you say that?"

Edward didn't answer.

"Look, Mr. Elric, I can promise that if you get on that plane back to Washington, we will get your brother back."

"You don't understand!" Edward said, sitting forward. "I can't go back! If they find out I'm out of the country, they will kill my brother! As long as I'm here, he has a chance!"

"What chance? What are you talking about?"

"Martigue and I are in a stalemate. We each have something the other wants."

"Okay…"

"Martigue wants the knowledge I have of the uranium bomb. That gives me something to bargain with."

Mustang balked, a dawning realization creeping over him.

"You're not going to tell him what he wants to know, are you?"

Edward did say anything, only looked off to his left. Mustang scooted forward, moving closer to the young man urgently.

"You can't tell him what he wants to know."

"I may not have a choice."

"You _always_ have a choice."

"Not this time."

Mustang stood up in anger, looming over Edward.

"Look, I understand that you want to get your brother back, but what you are trying to do will only hurt a lot of people! You tell Martigue what he wants to know and he's going to make a bomb that he'll lob straight at the U.S.! I can't let you do that, and I _won't_ let you do that!!"

"Where the _hell _do you get off telling _me_ what to do??" Edward raged, also rising to his feet and pushing Mustang back a step.

"Since you've seemed to have lost all sense of reason!"

"You don't get it!! You can always protect the U.S. from a bomb, but I have to protect my brother now!!"

"By making a deal with a terrorist?? You think that's what your brother wants??"

"It doesn't matter what he wants! It's _my_ decision, and you won't change my mind! I don't have a choice, agent! Martigue is holding a _gun_ to my brother's head, and in the same motion, one to mine!"

"You have seriously lost it, kid! You think that's going to solve the problem?"

"_I don't have a choice!!"_

"You little idiot!!"

Something inside of Edward snapped, and he lost control, launching a fist at Mustang's face with as much force as he could throw behind the swing. However, the agent hadn't gotten to the head of his team without learning a thing or two along the way. He dodged to the side out of the path of the swing and grabbed Edward's wrist, pulling the youth forward and thrusting the edge of his kneecap full-force into the young man's solar plexus. Edward emitted a harsh gagging noise and folded, dropping to his knees and clutching at his stomach as he fought to gather air into his lungs. He stared up at Mustang in shock, completely caught off guard.

"Listen, what you are doing is stupid, and you know it."

Edward couldn't find the breath to respond.

"You think that by telling Martigue what he wants to know you will solve the problem? You think he'll let your brother go?? You're a moron! Martigue won't let your brother go free! He'll splatter his brain pan all over the wall, and while you're still numb with shock, he'll do the same to you!"

Edward didn't reply, but his expression told Mustang that he knew the agent was right, only he didn't want to believe it. Mustang pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed tiredly.

"Look, I know you want to protect your brother. I get that. But you're not going to do it by giving the enemy what they want."

The agent looked down at the youth, coming to a decision that he was quite sure would haunt him for the rest of his days he spent working for the Bureau.

"Okay…okay…if I let you stay in Europe…will you let me help you find your brother?"

Edward stared at the man in complete surprise.

"What?"

"Will you work _with_ me instead of _against_ me? I told you before that I'm not your enemy, and I swear to that. If you promise to stick with me instead of running willy-nilly all over the continent, I will let you stay in Europe and look for your brother."

For a moment, Edward didn't speak, his brain hopping back and forth, weighing the pros and cons. Staying with the agent meant giving up his freedom to do things his way, but it also meant having solid back-up in tight places. It also meant having a constant chaperone who would not doubt belittle him (this man was, after all, this world's counterpart to the Flame Alchemist) and berate his every move, but it meant, too, having a sharp mind to help him reason through clues and sniff out leads.

"Will you let me help you?" Mustang inquired, cutting through the young man's quiet musings. Edward hesitated another moment. What would Alphonse do?

In the end, he swallowed his pride and nodded.

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"So who is this guy?" Edward asked. He stood before a one-sided mirror, looking into the room where a bedraggled man sat hunched in a seat before a table. He was wearing a tan raincoat and looked eerily familiar to the young chemist, but he couldn't quite place where he'd seen the man before.

"His name is Erich von Schneider," Mustang replied. "He tried to kill you an hour ago."

"Ah," Edward answered, mind's eye remembering the flash of tan in the crowd before the podium had blown apart right in front of him.

"I've had agents questioning him for the last half hour, but apparently they've been unsuccessfully. So I decided to take a crack at him."

Edward nodded wordlessly, studying the man's ruddy features and flyaway blonde hair.

"You wanna come with me?" Mustang asked him, to which the young chemist shrugged noncommittally.

"Sure."

"Great. You can play Bad Cop."

Edward followed the man into the room, positioning himself in the corner behind the door while Mustang took a seat in the chair across from Schneider.

"Well, Mr. Schneider. I hope you're stay with us has been pleasant."

The man looked up at the Federal agent, murderous fury in his watery blue eyes. He began to speak rapidly in German, and Mustang didn't understand a word.

"I'm sorry," the agent said amicably, pretending to be unfazed. "I don't speak German. Do you by chance speak English?"

"American pig," the man uttered gutturally in English. He then proceeded to rudely curse Mustang in German. The agent just stared blankly at him until he heard Edward sigh impatiently in the corner.

"Careful, sir," the young chemist warned in German. "I know what you're saying, and if you don't want me to repeat what you just told my friend, I suggest you keep it clean."

Schneider stared at the youth in shock, but then angrily looked away from both him and Mustang. Mustang looked back at Edward questioningly, and the young scientist only shrugged.

"What? I lived in Germany for two years."

Mustang nodded, then turned back to the man before him.

"I'll make this quick, Mr. Schneider. Why were you trying to kill Mr. Elric?"

The German snorted.

"I would hope that even you simple minded man would be able to figure that out," he replied arrogantly, words smothered thickly in a German accent.

"Well, sure, but I've always liked to get the answers straight from the horse's mouth. Did Martigue order it?"

The man didn't answer.

"Mr. Schneider, we'll get out of your hair faster if you would just answer my question. Did Andre de Martigue order you to kill Mr. Elric?"

Schneider's glare was scathing.

"You will get nothing from me until I have a lawyer."

Edward groaned.

"Are you kidding me?" he said, and then he came forward, slapping his hands on the table. "Just answer the damn question, you ass! Why were you trying to kill me??"

Schneider stared at him, eyes practically gloating as he kept his mouth shut. Edward growled in frustration.

"I don't have time for this!! Answer the question or I'll pound you into next year!!"

"Your empty threats mean nothing to me, little boy," the man taunted. Edward's eyes filled with rage.

"_Little?!_" he howled hotly, raising a fist, but paused when the man began to laugh triumphantly.

"Yes, strike me! Though I have doubts that your fist could reach me even while I sit!"

Edward nearly climbed over the table to get to the man, but Mustang held him back by putting a hand on his arm.

"Back off," the agent bade, and Edward moved back a step, trying to dispel his growing rage.

"Mr. Schneider, please stop trying to provoke us and just answer the question. Were you or were you not ordered by Mr. Martigue to kill Mr. Elric?"

Schneider thoroughly ignored the agent again, his eyes focused on Edward.

"You have no idea," the man taunted, speaking in German this time. Edward stiffened and glared at him.

"What do you mean?" he replied, also speaking German.

"While you sit here and waste time playing patty-cake with me, Martigue moves closer to his goal."

Edward moved closer, and Mustang said nothing, letting him handle this.

"So you do work for him."

It was not a question. The man ignored the statement and smiled wickedly.

"Even if you do not give Martigue what he wants, he'll still get the location of the bomb."

"No one else knows where it is."

"You are mistaken, little boy. There is another."

Edward's eyes narrowed.

"Have you forgotten about your precious brother?"

Even though he couldn't understand what the two were talking about, Mustang could see the terror in Edward's body at the young man stiffened, gripping his hands into fists and narrowing his eyes.

"What have you done?" he asked, but the man only laughed.

"The boy is stubborn, but he will break. Martigue has friends, you know, friends whose specialty is breaking boys like your brother."

The German shook his head in a mockingly apologetic way.

"Your brother looks weak, anyway. He will bleed easily. I would not be surprised if Martigue's friends have already done the trick and the boy is squealing his heart out right now, sobbing like a infant for his older brother and—"

Before the man could even finish the sentence, Edward was on him, knocking over the chair and taking both it and the man to the floor. Mustang stood up in alarm and then moved into the hall, calling for the other two agents standing there. Edward's hands, meanwhile, had found Schneider's throat and locked around it, choking the German, but before any real damage could be done, Mustang and the other two agents were pulling him off, Mustang grabbing him around the middle while the others each grabbed a wrist and tried to pry his hands free. Edward fought them wildly, eyes ablaze in golden fury, but Mustang put him in a chokehold and he came away easily, albeit furiously. He kicked and squirmed a few more times as two more men came in the room to grab the German and haul him off the floor.

"_Let me go!_" Edward demanded, hopping mad, trying to break the holds on his arms, but the agents' grips only tightened.

"Calm down!" Mustang commanded.

"_I'll kill him_!!"

"That's what he wants, Edward!! He's baiting you!!"

At that, Edward stopped fighting, confused.

"He _wants_ you to kill him. He's got information and he doesn't want us to know it. He's just goading you."

Edward finally calmed enough for the three agents to release him.

"Go wander around for a bit," Mustang ordered. "Clear your head. You're way too stressed to be of any help right now."

A bit put out by being treated like an unruly child, Edward huffed and left, angrily slamming the door behind him and storming down the hallway.

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And now the action begins to pick up again! Yay! Things were getting a little boring before, neh?

Sorry for the delay!! Had to catch up to Ed so that I could pin him down and tickle this out of him.

Ed: (sniffle) You mean, cruel woman!!

You deserved it! (sticks out tongue)

I hope you liked this chapter! More to come!

Can you believe this story has been going on for a little over a year now?? I can't!!


	19. Chapter 19

(sighs) Hey all

Well lookie here! Another chapter!

Don't hold your breath that the next chapter will be up soon. Getting this chapter up required a miracle and a half.

Read on, and please leave a review!

**Chapter 19**

There was an air of definitiveness to Andre de Martigue's actions as he set his fork down on the table, taking another moment to wipe any remaining crumbs of his supper off his face. Across the table, Alphonse looked up from his own plate curiously, knowing that something important was about to happen. To the young Elric's right, Capricia Vittorioni had focused her eyes on Martigue as well. The Frenchman, meanwhile, said not a word, sipping quietly at his tea, eyes cast down so that his expression was completely unreadable. Alphonse tried his best not to fidget in his seat, apprehensive of whatever Martigue was planning to say. Finally, the Frenchman set down his teacup and laced his fingers together, leaning forward on his elbows and giving Alphonse a smile.

"Well," he said. "I think it is about time we get moving to Iskenderun. Don't you agree, monsieur?"

Alphonse felt his stomach clench in panic but he tried not to let his alarm show on his face. Instead, he merely clenched his jaw and kept his mouth shut, knowing that his opinion truthfully mattered very little to the Frenchman. Martigue's smile widened.

"Well, since there are no objections, we shall move in the morning."

He stood up, smug grin still on his face.

"_Bon soir_," he said with a little wave of goodbye, setting down his napkin and moving off out of the room. Alphonse kept his eyes on the man the whole time until the man was out of sight, at which point the boy turned his eyes back to the table, fuming silently. This was bad. He would have to rethink his whole escape now.

Beside him, Capricia studied his face wordlessly. The more and more this plot thickened, the more and more her employer's group was falling further and further apart.

Perhaps now would be a good time for her to bow out.

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"Hey! I thought I told you to cut that out!!"

"But I'm _bored_!!"

"That's great! Quit messing with my stuff!!"

With a spectacular pout, Edward Elric pulled his hand away from where it was fiddling with the switches and knobs on the CB radio mounted under the dashboard of FBI Agent Roy Mustang's car and folded his arms over his chest, slouching down in his seat to help perfect his sulking image. Mustang merely rolled his eyes.

"Oh grow up. You're too old to be acting like a spoiled child."

Edward glared.

"When you proposed a stakeout, I was hoping it would be at a more _lively_ location. This place has the liveliness of a _graveyard_."

The young chemist and his companion were sitting in the agent's cars by some of Venice's seediest docks. The agent had insisted earlier that they had gotten a good lead to this place from Erich von Schneider, the German spy who'd tried to kill Edward only a few hours ago, but had likewise insisted that they wait for a few hours to see if the information the FBI had been given was true. So far, there had been not a single sign of life, and Edward, in his impulsive, battle ready way, had quickly grown fed up with the lack of action. They'd been waiting for too long, he felt, and it was about time that they got out of the car and started busting heads. Any heads, it didn't matter just as long as they were busting some. But for now, all he could apparently do was sit around on his behind and sulk. He took some comfort in knowing that at least he was successfully annoying the agent who had forced him into such a mind-numbing position. Edward figured that if he had to suffer, the agent did, too.

With a sigh, he tilted his head back, closing his eyes and trying to will away the headache that had been brewing in his skull for what had felt like the past month and a half. Realistically, Edward realized it had only been a little over three weeks, but he was quickly beginning to tire of everything that was happening. He just wanted it all to be over and done with, with his brother safely returned, the uranium bomb safely hidden away again, and Martigue away behind bars.

Beside him, Mustang noticed the sigh and looked over at him.

"Tired?" he asked, which was a dumb question, but he felt the need to ask it anyway, if only to start a conversation. Ed didn't bother to open his eyes, but only shook his head.

"Tired doesn't begin to describe how I feel."

Mustang smirked and nodded.

"Well, hopefully everything gets sett—" Mustang bit off the rest of his sentence, suddenly noticing movement around the warehouse in front of him. Put on alert by the way the agent has stopped and stiffened so abruptly, Edward sat up in his seat, peering through the growing dusk, and soon his alert golden eyes picked up the shape of someone moving around one of the warehouses.

"Looks like someone's home," Mustang said, speaking lowly even though they were well out of earshot of anyone. Edward nodded and crouched a little lower in his seat, putting his hand on the door handle beside him.

"So what's our next move?" he asked, tone clearly reflecting his eagerness for a fight. Too eager, Mustang noted, and that only helped him reach his decision faster.

"Well," he said, keeping his tone as neutral and light as possible so as not to put Edward on alert. "_I_ am going to go inside and start asking questions. _You_…"

It was with supreme shock that Edward suddenly found his left hand securely handcuffed to the steering wheel of the car.

"…are going to stay put," Mustang finished, smirking. Edward's jaw dropped nearly to the floor in bewilderment, eyes fully expressing the betrayal the young man was feeling.

"You bastard!!" he seethed then, jerking and twisting his hand, trying to pull the handcuffs loose. "Get this off me!!"

"Sorry, no can do. Can't have you running off as soon as I turn my back, now can I?" Mustang replied lightly as he slid out of the car. He shut his door, but leaned in the window to point and smirk at Edward.

"Don't go anywhere, okay?"

Edward glared and struggled viciously to free himself.

"You bastard!" he called after the agent's departing back. "You can't do this to me!! Let me out!!"

Mustang only ignored him and disappeared into the gloom.

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Edward fumed for a long time, cursing the agent with every word he knew. That damn bastard had played him for a fool! He'd done it perfectly, too, pretending that he cared about how Ed felt about the whole situation, even letting Edward tag along with him on this lead. In the end, though, he was just like every other government agent in a suit; sneaky and backhanded with his tactics. All that mattered to him was completing his mission, not the people involved in it. Ed peered at the handcuffs, hoping to find a loose link or a way to slip his hand free, but all he found was unrelenting steel. He lost his temper at one point and pulled and twisted wildly, swearing robustly the whole time. Finally, after a few minutes, he calmed to a low simmer and just glared at the manacles. If it had been his right wrist, he might have been able to pull until the hand cuffs snapped, but since it was his left wrist, it would be too painful to do that. Better not risk it.

He tried not to think about how much easier it would have been to get out of this if he'd only had alchemy…

He shook such thoughts out of his head. _Can't dwell on that._ He scoured the car for something else to use. A screwdriver or a file, even a paperclip would do. He searched over every inch he could reach with his limited mobility, swearing again as he leaned over to peer beneath the seats. Nothing. The bastard had the cleanest car Edward had ever seen. With a sigh of defeat, Edward slumped back against his seat, tugging on the handcuffs in one final burst of defiance before tilting his head back and closing his eyes. He supposed this was Karma's way of picking up his debt. He'd rolled the dice a fair number of times and Lady Luck had always smiled on him, but this time, it seemed, she'd taken a break to go find some other person to smile at. He hoped it was Alphonse.

Alphonse.

Edward's stomach suddenly clenched. He had to rescue his brother. His eyes opened and he stared at the ceiling, not seeing it, but looking past it. Alphonse needed him, and he couldn't abandon him. He tried to dismiss the thoughts that the German spy had implanted in his head. Alphonse wasn't being tortured. He couldn't be. Martigue was ruthless, but even he wouldn't go that far…would he?

Edward swallowed hard. He couldn't give up. He was the only one who could save Alphonse. He was the only one who had the chips to bargain with. But, he reminded himself, glaring at the hand cuffs again, he'd been thrown a major curve ball that foiled his plans. Damn that sneaky bastard, he thought, his anger stirring within his chest again. He hadn't come this far to be thwarted by the likes of an FBI agent. But, he didn't even have something to pick the lock with!

"Dammit!" he shouted, kicking the dashboard violently. It was with enough force to drop the glove compartment open. Edward stared at it with interest. Aha! That's where the bastard kept everything. He leaned forward and starting shuffling through the mess.

Passports? No. A flashlight? Useful. Ed pocketed it. Plane tickets…coffee receipts…boy, this guy bought a lot of coffee…credit card slips…bank slips…Edward whistled appreciatively. This guy was pretty well off financially. He threw the paper aside. A Beretta hand pistol? Edward hefted it in his right hand. Nice weapon, but not anything he was interested in. He laid it aside and sifted through more papers. For the amount of paper the man kept in his glove compartment, he was surprised not to find a single paperclip in sight. He searched lower when his eyes picked up something shiny and glittery. Aha! He pulled it free. Gum wrapper. Dammit. Another gum wrapper. And another. A lighter. Two silver pens. Handcuff keys. Another gum…wait, what? Edward fumbled through his pile of shiny objects and pulled what he wanted out. Handcuff keys? He held them aloft and stared at them disbelievingly.

"What kind of idiot leaves his handcuff keys in the glove compartment? …wait…why am I questioning this?" he asked himself outloud.

Apparently Lady Luck was still on his side. A grin split his face as the manacle around his wrist clicked open and slid off. Free! Edward starting shoving everything back into the glove compartment. There was one more thing he had to do before he left.

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Mustang was happy to find that his young and surly charge was sulking right where he had left him. With a smirk, he slid back into the driver's seat.

"Good to see you didn't leave while I was gone," he said.

"Hardy har har. You should seek a career in stand up with that sense of humor," Edward retorted sarcastically, trying to keep his game face on. He only had one second to execute it.

Mustang smirked again and reached forward, sliding the key into the ignition. As soon as he turned it and fired up the engine, he perceived a familiar clicking noise and looked over to find that the handcuff he'd left fastened around Edward's wrist was now suddenly on his own. He slowly raised his disbelieving eyes to look into Edward's ear to ear devious grin.

"Gotcha," was all that Edward said before he darted away, scooting out of the car before Mustang could grab him by a jacket lapel.

"Hey! Get back here!" he yelled after the youth, and then proceeded to search his body for his handcuff keys. He couldn't find them in his usual coat pocket. Crap. Different coat. He patted himself down, then searched the vehicle. Where did he keep his spare set??

"Yooooooohooooooooooooooo!" he heard Edward's voice call in a sing-songy way. Roy looked up and saw the youth framed in the beam of the headlights. His coal black eyes widened in horror as he caught sight of something small and silver flashing in the young man's hand. Ed jingled the handcuff keys, grin impossibly huge and wickedly evil.

"Lookin' for these?" Edward asked. Roy stuck his hand out the window.

"Give me those!" he commanded as authoritatively as possible. Edward grinned and strode forward, reaching his hand out as if to drop the keys in Roy's hand…and dropped them over the car antenna on the hood of the car instead. Roy gaped in horror. The keys were only two inches away but he couldn't get them because he would have to stand up to pull them off the antenna, and as he was currently hand cuffed to the steering wheel, he couldn't get out of the car to stand up and remove the keys. He stared up at the young man, completely and thoroughly baffled. Edward only grinned wolfishly at him and waved.

"Buh-bye now!" he said all too cheerfully, and then he turned and walked away.

"Get back here!" Roy called after him. "Hey!! I'm talking to you!! Come back!!"

Edward vanished from view and Roy swore. That sneaky little bastard.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Edward was feeling pretty good about himself as he wove through the dark alleyways, his newly acquired flashlight lighting his way. After a few minutes, he sobered and reminded himself that there was a lot of work ahead of him. He turned left down another alley and came face to face with a group of rough looking men. The men all grinned viciously at him and came forward, and Edward took a step back, assuming a defensive stance but holding his hands at his sides.

"Well, well, well…lookie what wandered into our territory, boys," said the graybearded man on the left, his voice thick with an Italian accent. His friends Charcoal Shirt and Doofus grinned voraciously.

"And all alone, too," Graybeard said, making a tsking noise with his tongue. He stepped forward and Edward glared, backing up another step.

"Pretty little thing, ain't she, boss?" said Doofus—aptly named, Edward suddenly assured himself as he felt something snap within him.

"_Little?? She??_" he hissed lowly.

"Shouldn't be wandering around these parts alone, little miss," warned Charcoal Shirt, having not heard the young man. "Might get hurt!"

Edward lost it. The flashing of his golden eyes was the only warning the three men got before the young man let out a howl of rage and launched himself at them, fists swinging and feet smashing noses. The men all shrieked in pain and Charcoal Shirt grabbed his face while Doofus's hands flew south and Graybeard starting spitting out teeth. Edward was far from done, still swinging and howling into the night.

"WHO'S SO SHORT AND WILLOWY THAT YOU COULD MISTAKE HIM FOR A GIRL?? I'M A _BOY_, YOU STUPID BEER-GOGGLE-WEARING IDIOTS!!"

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Edward arrived thirty minutes late but feeling much relieved of his anger at the rendezvous spot he and his father had arranged earlier that day. He didn't see Hohenheim anywhere in sight, but he wasn't that surprised.

"Old man!" he whispered harshly into the surrounding gloom. "Old man, where the hell are you??"

He moved forward through the open door of the warehouse before him, figuring the old man had gone inside to get out of the biting wind coming off the sea.

"Old man!" he called again, his voice echoing eerily off the walls around him. "Where are you??"

He stiffened when he heard a noise behind him, and was about to wheel about, an angry retort already prepared at the end of his tongue, but a strong arm with an iron grip snaked around his throat from behind, while another hand knocked the flashlight from his grip, sending it skittering across the grated floor to tumble off the landing to the next level where it clanged loudly down the stairs. Right arm twisted behind his back and the other clawing at the arm around his throat, Edward struggled fiercely to get free before his captor's words took the strength out of his knees.

"So glad to see you made it, _little brother._"

Edward throat tightened in fear.

_Envy._


	20. Chapter 20

**Wow. Okay. It's been almost two years since I wrote a chapter for this story. I don't put it on permanent hiatus because I WOULD like to finish it, but it's gonna take me forever, so I wouldn't be surprised if everyone gave up on it. So here's the newest chapter. Hope it was worth the ridiculous wait. But before you all get excited about it, I'm NOT back. I'm just finishing up something that's been hanging around My Documents for awhile. So enjoy it!**

**Also, if you're interested, I post on a pretty regular basis to deviantART under the same username. Look me up!**

**Chapter 20**

Dusk had begun to settle across the docks when Hohenheim finally arrived at the warehouse. He had managed to get himself quite soundly lost in Venice's streets and had had to stop for directions about three times before the man helping him kindly drew him a map and told him not to come back a fourth time. With the crude map in hand, Hohenheim finally found himself standing outside the right warehouse and he breathed a sigh of relief.

A chill wind blew across the docks from off the sea, a thick fog rolling in along behind it at a leisurely pace, and Hohenheim shivered, pulling his overcoat a little tighter around his torso. For a few moments, he stood there, waiting for Edward to pop out of the shadows and snark at him, but after awhile, the blonde failed to show. Hohenheim looked to the left.

No Edward.

He looked to the right.

No Edward that way either.

_Hmmm._

That was curious. Edward had always struck Hohenheim as being relatively punctual about his arrival. Maybe he'd gone inside, Hohenheim decided with a shrug, and he strode forward into the gloomy warehouse.

From that first step inside the building, he could immediately sense something was wrong. First of all, it was entirely too quiet. If Edward really were inside, he would have jumped on Hohenheim by now or shouted or done _something_ to make his presence known. But there was nothing, no sign of the young man anywhere. Hohenheim was ill at ease. Had he gotten the wrong warehouse again? He took a step back outside and checked the large, white numbers painted above the doors. No, this was definitely the right warehouse. Maybe Edward had gotten the wrong warehouse? Hohenheim hoped this was not the case, and decided that he would just wait and see.

But that wasn't the only thing bothering him. There was something else wrong here, some oppressive presence that made all the hairs on the back of his neck rise up. Curious, Hohenheim moved further into the warehouse.

"Hello?" he called into the gloom, his quietly deep voice bouncing back at him off the metal staircases and wooden crates. He stood still for a moment, thinking he'd heard something above the echoes, and when the last rumble of his words faded away, he finally heard them—muffled quiet noises that sounded desperate. He blinked and then trained his ears on the sound, trying to determine where it was coming from. All at once, he turned sharply around to face the grated stairwell behind him and there, to his surprise and confusion, he found Edward shoved beneath, hands and feet bound up and a strip of cloth fastened over his mouth.

"Edward?!" Hohenheim exclaimed in surprise.

The young man wriggled and uttered a plaintive noise at his father, and Hohenheim didn't waste any time rushing to his side, immediately noticing an ugly bruise beginning to form over the younger Elric's left eye and temple.

"Who did this to you??" Hohenheim demanded as he pulled out the gag.

"You have to get out of here!!" Edward replied hurriedly, ignoring the question. Hohenheim blinked at him curiously for a moment before untying the bindings around the young man's ankles.

"What?"

"_Get out of here before he finds you!!_"

"Before _who_ finds me? What are you talking about, Edward?"

"He's referring to me, _Father_," said a hard, cold voice behind Hohenheim. The elder Elric stiffened, immediately recognizing the inflections on the words if not the voice. Slowly, Hohenheim turned to look behind him and came face-to-face with a younger version of himself. The other man smiled wickedly, and Hohenheim nearly fainted as he realized who this young man was.

"I'm glad you decided to come," the man said, and he _smirked_, and Hohenheim knew, he _knew_ it was _him._

Envy.

It couldn't be anyone else. There was no mistaking the evil in that smile, the sheer, psychotic hatred burning brightly in his eyes. Hohenheim did his best to suppress a shudder and then narrowed his eyes at Envy.

"What do you want?"

Envy snorted.

"You haven't figured it out by now, old man?"

He bent forward at the waist, balling his hand into a tight fist.

"_Revenge_," he sibilated, and with the way he was poised, he looked very much like a viper ready to strike with his poisonous fangs. Hohenheim rose slowly to his feet. Better to not show fear and try to distract Envy away from Edward in order to give the younger Elric a chance to escape.

"May I ask revenge for what?"

Keep him talking. That was the plan. Keep him talking long enough for Edward to work his hands free and get away.

Envy scoffed.

"You know perfectly well what I'm getting revenge for."

"Refresh my memory."

Hohenheim started to move away from Edward. Having the young man in the direct line of fire was a bad idea. He had to get Envy to follow him and ignore the youth. Meanwhile, the younger Elric was wriggling his hips a bit, trying to slide his bound hands down around to the front of his body where they would be more useful. He had to do it carefully, though, because he didn't want Envy to know what he was doing. Envy, meanwhile was turning with Hohenheim, keeping his face to the man.

"Revenge for my mother. Revenge for creating me and then abandoning me. Revenge for all the years of hell your presence put me through. But most of all…revenge for replacing me."

Hohenheim balked.

"I never replaced you."

"Oh no? Then what do you call _that_??"

By 'that', he was referring to Edward, who bristled.

"He's _not_ your replacement, Envy."

"Don't lie to me, old man!" the other spat, and then broke in a psychotic grin. "I know that it's true. You failed with me and my mother, so you left us to find a perfect new family. And you love them more than anything, isn't that right? What would happen if I took them away from you, hmm?"

Hohenheim's eyes narrowed and he swallowed hard, throat constricting a little in fear. _Edward, what are you waiting for?? Get out!_

Edward, it seemed, had other plans. In the course of Envy's speech, he'd managed to get his arms under his legs and in front of him and was busy trying to get the tie loose with his teeth. However, Envy's threat made him pay attention, and he glared at the former Homunculus's back, nearly baring his teeth in rage. Envy didn't see it, and if he felt it, he made no move to acknowledge it.

"Do you understand now, old man?" the former Homunculus hissed. "Do you fully realize how perfect my revenge will be? How completely I plan to utterly crush and devour you?"

At that, Edward leaped, throwing his arms over the man's head and wrapping them around the man's throat, trying to strangle him. Hohenheim stared, heart skipping a beat in panic.

"Dad! Get out of here!" Edward yelled, struggling with Envy. Hohenheim didn't move, rooted to the spot with indecision. Envy, meanwhile, tore Edward off of his back and threw the young man down onto the ground, immediately laying into him with his fists. Edward threw his still bound hands up over his head, trying his best to protect it, and curling into a ball so as to protect his abdomen and stomach. After a few minutes, Envy grabbed him by the shirt front and hoisted him up off the ground, smacking one of his fists into Edward's left eye again, and Edward reeled back in pain. Envy pursued, slugging him repeatedly in the face and in the stomach, and with his hands bound uselessly together, Edward had no choice but to continue to retreat and try to get away.

But Envy wasn't about to let him slip away. Everytime Edward edged over to one side or the other, he found a fist or a knee waiting to crack into his ribs. He just continued to dance back, diminishing the weight of the blows, but all at once, there was an iron railing pressing into his lower back and he had nowhere left to go. Realizing this, Envy pressed in close and opened up on him, punching, kicking and doing whatever he could to cause damage to Ed. One particularly painful attack had Edward lurching forward with a muted cry of pain, and he collapsed onto his knees, curling up into a little ball. He gritted his teeth as Envy started kicking at him, two thoughts on his mind. He found himself wishing fervently for his alchemic powers to miraculously reawaken as he struggled to get his hands free from the tightly wrapped bindings. He also found himself wondering where the hell Hohenheim was.

For what it was worth, Hohenheim wasn't _trying_ to be an impassive third party, but every time he took a step forward to break up the beating, Envy turned to face him with a gun, stopping him dead in his tracks. He gritted his teeth. He had to do something! Yet, for some reason, he seemed unable to defy death and rush headlong into the fray. Why? he wondered. What was it holding him back? That thought left his mind a second later when Envy reached down without warning and grabbed Edward by the ponytail, yanking him to his feet despite his yelp of protest. Time came to a screeching halt when Envy forced Edward to face Hohenheim, hand still firmly wrapped in the young man's long blonde ponytail, and shoved the narrow barrel of his Parabellum handgun under the ridge of Edward's jaw bone, resting it firmly and pointedly against the throbbing carotid artery. Thoroughly disoriented from the beating he'd taken, there was little more Edward could do than wince in pain. Hohenheim stared in horror.

"Now do you see?" Envy asked, tone low and dangerous. Hohenheim swallowed hard.

"Let him go."

Envy snorted.

"Let him go?? Do you really think such a pathetic request can dissuade me?? I promised to make you suffer, old man, and _this_"—he jerked the gun further into Ed's throat for emphasis, making the younger man squawk in pain—"is how I plan to do it."

Hohenheim shook his head.

"You don't have to do that."

"Oh but I do. And do you know why, old man?"

Hohenheim shook his head, and Envy's smile grew ever more evil.

"Because then you will truly suffer. After all, you've all but given up on me, and the other little brat and you have finally formed a good relationship. It's this one"—he yanked on Ed's hair, jerking the young man's head to indicate him—"that is your real weakness."

Edward's face screwed up a bit in incredulity. Him? Hohenheim's weakness? Envy had to be kidding himself because the old man couldn't care less about him.

In the meantime, Hohenheim's eyes widened considerably in shock as he found himself unable to deny Envy's claim. Was Edward truly his weakness? A small part of him wanted to deny it, say that it couldn't be so because he barely knew Edward. But standing there looking at the scene of the young man in dire peril only had his paternal instincts on high alert. He knew in his heart that Envy was right, because Edward was his child. Hohenheim's eyes narrowed and his jaw firmed up.

"Let him go," he said, taking a step forward. Envy grinned psychotically.

"No, I don't think I will. I think I'll kill him instead."

The former Homunculus cocked the hand gun and his finger teased the trigger, but by that time, Edward's patience had worn out. He elbowed his captor in the stomach, and Envy's hand jerked away, shooting the readied bullet in another direction where it pinged off the metal stairs and railings harmlessly. Edward then kicked Envy in the knee, and the man released his grip on Edward's ponytail. The younger Elric wheeled around, launching a roundhouse kick at Envy's chest, but the other recovered quickly and blocked it.

"_You rotten little bastard!!_" he shouted, and he backhanded the young man, knocking him back into the railing. Already off balance from his intended attack and unable to catch himself with his hands tied, Edward let out a cry of dismay and flipped over the metal railing of the landing, plummeting out of sight. Hohenheim felt his heart leap into his throat and he rushed to the railing, peering over in enough time to see Edward crash on top of a pile of large wooden crates, smashing them and sending splinters of wood flying into the air. The young man let out a low groan and tried feebly to sit up, but slumped back down a second later, unconscious. Blood trickled down his forehead from a large gash, and Hohenheim found himself unable to breathe at the sight.

Envy, meanwhile, grinned wickedly and lifted his gun.

"This time," he said, "I won't miss," and he started down the stairs. He didn't get more than two steps down when he felt an iron grip clamp down on his wrist bruisingly. He swiveled his neck, glare at the ready, when he caught sight of the look on Hohenheim's face and froze.

Quite used to the hair-trigger temper of Edward, whose inner fire never seemed to go out, Envy had never really given much thought as to where he'd acquired such a temper. Now the source of that fire was all too clear. However, he quickly surmised that Edward's temper was only a fraction of its source. While a raging fire burned in Edward's eyes, Envy found himself face to face with a blazing inferno crackling in Hohenheim's eyes. The man's face was a frozen mask of anger, and the former Homunculus had never seen the normally gentle-natured man make such a face. He realized all too late that he'd made a grave miscalculation in going after Edward, for in doing so, he'd awakened a monster more terrifying than anything Envy had ever seen while inside the Gate.

"_Keep your hands off my son, you bastard,_" Hohenheim growled, voice dangerously low. Envy let out a choked cry as Hohenheim squeezed his wrist even tighter, forcing the pistol to drop out of numb fingers. It clattered down the stairs out of reach. Hohenheim then yanked Envy back up onto the platform with him and clocked him in the jaw with his other fist. Envy reeled back from the powerful blow, stumbling into the railing. He looked up in dismay to find Hohenheim stalking towards him, a deadly aura veritably crackling around the man. Envy threw up his hands in a feeble defense but Hohenheim's fist smashed right through, cracking against his face, knocking him back down the walkway.

Again and again, Hohenheim slugged away at Envy, catching him with a right hook, then a left jab, then a one-two-three attack to the gut, chest, and jaw. His fists flew about like lightning, and try as he might, Envy had no defense, no escape, and no hope of victory of any kind. Hohenheim never said a word as he doled out his punishment, just silently glared with those fiery tawny eyes that seemed to peer deep down into the depths of Envy's soul. For the first time in his existence, Envy could say with certainty that he was most definitely and assuredly afraid.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Envy stumbled backwards and landed on his backside. He stared up at Hohenheim with wide eyes, not sure what the unpredictable man had planned. The man loomed over him, rage roiling off of him like lava from a volcano. Without warning, the large man reached down and grabbed Envy by the collar, hoisting him to his feet and bringing him close, letting the former Homunculus feel the full extent of his wrathful gaze.

"I should kill you," he said in a voice far too calm for a man far too angry. Envy only stared at him in horror. He'd never been so afraid before, not even of Dante, and she'd been a terror and a half. He gave his best derisive sneer.

"D…do it then," he stuttered. "What's stopping you?"

For a moment, Hohenheim said nothing, and Envy almost believed that the man would actually kill him, but then the eldest Elric threw him down to skid a few feet away down the walkway. Envy eyed him in shock.

"I should kill you," Hohenheim reiterated. "But I won't. Because that would make me no better than you."

Envy rose to his feet, wiping the blood from his lips with the sleeve of his tweed jacket, but before he could give a snide retort, Hohenheim pointed at him threateningly.

"Mark my words, Envy. If you _ever_ come near _my sons_ again with any sordid attempts at their lives, _I will end you_…_painfully_ and _slowly_."

Hohenheim turned his back.

"Now get out of my sight," he commanded. Envy sputtered, outraged at having been dismissed so easily and so calmly, but he knew, as Hohenheim knew, that he was no longer a threat to the older man.

"This isn't over!" he crowed. Hohenheim looked at him, expression not at all smug or taunting.

"Yes," he said simply. "It is."

He bent down and pocketed Envy's gun, then started down the steps to help Edward, leaving Envy up on the walkway.

Envy growled under his breath, gnashing his teeth and clenching his hands into fists over and over, desperately wanting nothing more than to squeeze the life out of that blonde haired little son of a bitch and his father. He looked down over the railing, glaring at the young man's unconscious features, watching more blood trickle down from the gash on his forehead and mingle in with the growing puddle of kerosene building around him.

Kerosene.

Envy's eyes lit up.

The only warning Hohenheim got was the clatter of glass behind him and a triumphant yell from Envy. He wheeled around and his eyes widened in horror at the sight of the crazed Homunculus hoisting a large kerosene lamp above his head.

"_You should have finished me when you had the chance, old man!!_" Envy cackled, and then he threw the lamp with all his might down to crash against the crates directly beside Edward. Instantly, the little flame inside of the lamp roared up into a fiery inferno that edged dangerously close to the kerosene surrounding the young man, threatening to engulf his limp, unresponsive form. Edward did not stir, not even in the face of such intense heat.

Hohenheim gaped in horror and rushed down the steps, ignoring Envy's gleeful, ugly laughter at his back as his enemy escaped. He dragged Edward from danger just as the flames licked teasingly at the ends of the young man's overcoat, pulling him down to the floor and shielding him as the kerosene bottles in the crates exploded one by one, shooting glass and wood into the air where it nicked and scratched at Hohenheim. The fire grew larger as it ate everything in its path, and the eldest Elric had just enough time to scoop Edward up into his arms and dash out of the front door of the warehouse before a heavy wooden crane came crashing down to the floor right behind him.

When the fire department showed up with their hoses and shiny red trucks, Hohenheim and Edward were long gone into the night.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

A Nazi soldier milled around the Venice airport with a slowly-dwindling stack of pamphlets in hand. Each person he passed was roughly handed a pamphlet and anyone who protested subsequently received a cold stare, causing many of the recipients to gulp a little and look down at the piece of folded paper in their hands and see a picture of a young man with fair hair and serious eyes staring back at them and the name _Edward Elric_ written beneath it. Below that was a stern order written in German, English, and Italian: _If you see this man, contact us immediately_. Many native Italians walked away from the Nazi hoping to never have the misfortune to see the young man, because they knew that anyone being sought by the Nazis was a marked man.

Unseen by the Nazi soldier, a tall man of impressive height and build wearing purposefully nondescript clothes tossed the pamphlet into the trash, heading in the opposite direction. He came up beside a small old man reading a local newspaper and took his elbow, guiding him in the direction of their flight terminal. The old man stumbled a little and leaned heavily against the taller man, but no one gave them a second glance as they passed through the crowds.

* * *

"Goddamn, you're really blind, old man," Edward muttered, mouth twisting into a little smirk a second later at the irony of his statement.

He was dressed as an old man, after all, complete with a short gray wig and Hohenheim's glasses, which were messing with his depth perception. He tripped slightly on one of the stairs and almost went down, but Hohenheim's strong grip kept him from an ugly meeting with the ground below. He cursed again under his breath.

"Well, would you rather we try walking out of here as ourselves?" asked Hohenheim, who donned a brown hat and tan trenchcoat. "I'm sure it would be quite a show we'd make trying to get out of here."

"Shut up and keep walking or I'll smack you with my cane," Edward croaked in his best old man voice. Hohenheim grinned wryly.

"Look at you. Prepared for retirement already."

Edward glared as best he could without going cross-eyed through the glasses. He hefted the cane in his hand and shook it in a brandishing way.

"I think this will look good in your head. Wanna see if I'm right?"

"No, thank you," his father said cheerfully.

"What did you get us?" Edward said, changing topics quite suddenly. He was peering at the tickets in Hohenheim's free hand. The older Elric shrugged.

"I don't know. I just took the first thing they offered that could get us close to, if not all the way into, Iskenderun."

Edward stopped short, causing Hohenheim to stop.

"What is it?"

Edward just pointed wordlessly and Hohenheim looked.

"Ah," the elder Elric said when he noticed the blimp waiting patiently for them.

A few minutes later, they were on board the blimp and took a seat at a secluded table in a corner of the main room where the shadows were a little darker. Edward hopped into the chair in the corner and opened his newspaper. Hohenheim sat down with a little more grace and looked around the room for a moment, taking note of all the opulently decorated people surrounding them at the other tables. No one noticed the two Elrics perched in the corner.

"So?" the elder Elric asked. Edward looked over at him curiously.

"We made it," the older man finished.

"Hmph," said Edward and he turned to the next page of his paper before leaning towards Hohenheim.

"When we're airborne and heading out of this damn city, then I'll get excited," he said, and promptly went back to trying to decipher the Italian-written newspaper around his father's glasses.

Hohenheim chuckled and just glanced out the window, noticing the Nazi soldier approaching almost too late. Edward didn't notice as he tensed and peered down at the man who waved at one of the workers on the blimp, commanding them not to shut the door just yet with the wave of his hands. When the man had boarded and was out of sight, Hohenheim looked around desperately, trying to scrape together some kind of plan. A waiter came over just then and placed some creamers in a bowl onto the table between the Elrics. As he moved away, Hohenheim got up and followed him, putting an arm around the man and muttering to him quietly as they vanished together into one of the back rooms.

Meanwhile, the Nazi soldier who had boarded was moving around through the passengers, shoving the pamphlet with Edward's picture on it into their faces and giving them a sternly questioning look. Many people shook their heads. They hadn't seen the young man. He moved on to the next table and repeated the process until he wound up by the corner where Edward sat unawares. The soldier took one look at the "old man" squinting vainly at the newspaper and approached, hooking a finger over the top of the newspaper and pulling it down to reveal himself. Edward squinted at the finger holding his newspaper, and then blinked up owlishly through his father's glasses at the man standing before him. The Nazi soldier smirked.

"_Guten tag_," he said, then continued in German, "heading out of the city, are we, _mein herr_?"

Edward had no answer to give; he was still trying to make out the man's face within the fuzzy pink blob that he assumed was the man's head.

Hohenheim saved him. He came up behind the Nazi, dressed in the ill-fitting jacket of the waiter whom he'd felled with a well-placed punch and had stuffed into one of the bathroom stalls.

"_Guten tag, mein herr_," he said. "May I see your ticket?"

"Eh?" the Nazi said, not understanding English. He turned around to face Hohenheim, and his eyes widened, but before he could say a word, the eldest Elric clocked him in the jaw with his fist, knocking him back across the table. Edward stood up suddenly, just as surprised as the other patrons, who cried out in alarm. Evidently not hearing them, Hohenheim decked the man again when he tried to rise, then grabbed the man by the shirt front and threw him out the window of the blimp. He turned back around, wiping his hands together, and suddenly noticed all the horrified looks on the faces of the other passengers. He casually put a hand on his hip and threw his thumb in the direction the Nazi had gone.

"No ticket," he said in a very nonchalant tone.

He'd never seen so many people brandish tickets so quickly in his life.

* * *

Dinner had passed quietly, which was probably the quietest Edward had ever been at dinner before in his entire life. He had removed his old man disguise about an hour ago, the beginnings of a headache starting from wearing his father's glasses for too long. They had discussed strategy after landing in Iskenderun and what they were going to do about finding the uranium bomb, and when that was over, they'd just sat there in awkward silence, Hohenheim looking out the window and sipping his scotch while Edward sat staring blankly at the cup of coffee wrapped loosely in his hands. He fished for something to say, anything at all, but found himself at a loss for words. He could think of a few things he wanted to tell his father, but none of them were good, and his head hurt him too much to want to start an argument.

Finally, Hohenheim looked at him.

"So after we rescue Alphonse and get the uranium bomb back, what happens?"

Edward looked up at him, confused.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, what happens? Do we get on a plane and fly back to New York and resume our lives as usual?"

Edward blinked, not understanding where his father was going with this line of questioning.

"I guess so, yeah," he answered.

A shadow crossed Hohenheim's face.

"I see," he said in mysterious tone. Edward just stared at him, but as he opened his mouth to reply, he suddenly realized something strange was going on. He stared at the shadows on the table cast from the late afternoon sun.

"Edward?" Hohenheim asked.

"_Shit_," Edward hissed, standing up. It was then that he noticed the suspicious looks of the other passengers. "_Double shit_."

"Edward? What's wrong?"

Edward gave his father a level stare.

"They're turning us around."

"They're what??" Hohenheim asked, getting to his feet.

"They're taking us back to Italy."

* * *

"I swear to God, Dad! I can't take you anywhere anymore!!"

"Hey! I thought that it would take them a lot longer to realize their radio was dead!"

"_Hurry up!!"_

Hohenheim followed his son down the metal gangplank running along the very bottom of the blimp. Edward seemed to know where he was going as he led them down a little farther to a small ladder extending down into open air. What lay at the bottom of the rungs was a small, two person plane. Edward was already in the cockpit setting the engine by the time Hohenheim clambered into the backseat. His father leaned forward and tapped him on the shoulder, and Edward snapped a curious look back at him.

"I didn't know you knew how to fly a plane!!" the older Elric said. Edward made contact, and the propeller on the front of the plane started whirling into motion.

"Fly? Yes!" he said. "Land?"

He detached the plane from it's hooked by pulling a little release lever above his head.

"…more or less…"

Hohenheim smiled nervously.

With practiced ease, Edward guided the plane down and away from the blimp, swiftly leaving it behind. He'd spent a lot of time flying planes back when he'd studied rocketry with Dr. Oberth in Germany. For one reason, he thought that if he was going to fly a rocket into space, he should probably learn how to fly one on Earth first. For another…it was just a really fun thing to do. That first flight had been nothing short of terrifying, but once he got past the horrified moment of _what the hell is holding this thing up_, he'd found the whole experience exhilarating. He'd been flying planes ever since.

An alarmed shout from Hohenheim shook him out of his reverie and he glanced back over his shoulder to see two planes approaching behind him, one on the left and one on the right.

"_Crap!_" Edward yelled. "How much worse can this get?"

He regretted asking that when the plane on his left suddenly opened fired.

"_Son of a--!_ _Quit making me eat my words, Murphy!"_

Edward looked at his father over his shoulder.

"Hang on, Dad!"

Hohenheim sank down into his seat and braced himself as Edward moved the plane into a series of evasive maneuvers. Hohenheim was impressed at his son's skill; he moved through the motions easily, without hesitation or fear. Clearly he'd done this a few times before.

The steady _rattatattatatta_ of the machine guns of the planes behind them was cause for alarm, however. As magnificent as Edward's loops were, they were slowing them down severely, and as such, the planes pursuing them were able to get closer. Edward got a good look at them, and was unsurprised to find that they were Nazi fighter planes. He grimaced. There was no way for him to fight back, and he couldn't keep up his fancy flying nor run for it. But he could sure try. He returned to a normal flying position and increased his speed, trying to put more distance between him and his pursuers. It was to no avail. The Nazi pilots stayed on him, and Edward found himself spending more and more time swerving erratically through the sky.

An unlucky maneuver on his part ended up putting his tail right into the line of sight of the right hand plane. The Nazi pilot squeezed the trigger mounted on his joystick, sending a spray of bullets that chewed apart the tail fabric of the Elrics' plane. Edward let out a startled noise as the plane jerked and suddenly began to descend.

"Hang on, Dad!! I'm gonna have to land it!!" he yelled.

More of Hohenheim vanished beneath the lip of the plane.

Edward gritted his teeth and gripped the controls in a death grip, fighting to keep the little plane level with the ground and slow it down to a landing speed. He desperately looked for any flat surface, but all he saw where hills and mountains. Suddenly, they flew over a craggy line of rock and a wide, flat plain opened up.

"We're going down!!" Edward warned and aimed for the flattest part of the plain. He hit it with a stomach-dropping bump, and the little plane went bumping on down the line until it finally came to a stop mere inches from a cliff wall.

With a sigh of relief, Edward pried his hands away from the joystick. Hohenheim cautiously rose out of his seat and checked to make sure he was still in one piece.

"Nice landing," he said sardonically.

"Thanks," said Edward as he clambered out of the plane. He started to run away when he realized his father wasn't following because he was messing with something stashed down below his seat.

"Come on, Dad!! They're coming back!!" Edward said, gesturing in the directions of the Nazi planes, which were in fact turning around to make another sweep. Hohenheim came up with a strange looking metallic tube and smiled at his son.

"No worries," he said. Edward just raised a blonde eyebrow at him.

Without a word to his son, Hohenheim waltzed very casually over to another flat part of the terrain. He propped the metal tube up on a small tripod attached to its back end and then pointed it straight up at the sky.

"What are you doing?" Edward asked, not amused by being kept out of the loop.

Hohenheim didn't answer, just waiting patiently, staring at the approaching planes. When one finally flew close enough, he reached down and casually pulled the trigger on the ground-to-air grenade launcher. Edward's mouth dropped nearly to the ground as he watched one of the planes explode. The second plane veered off course and vanished quickly behind some clouds.

"Problem solved," Hohenheim said, packing up the grenade launcher and putting it back into the plane.

"Let's go."

He started away. Edward just stood gawking, looking at the inferno on the side of the mountain that used to be a plane, and then looked at his father's back. He shook himself, promptly chasing after the man.

"Dad!! Get back here!! Where the hell did you get that thing from?! Dad!! Quit walking away from me when I'm talking to you!! Tell me where you got that from!! _Dad!!!"_


End file.
